


Of (Biker) Mice and (Wo)men

by Quickening



Category: Biker Mice From Mars
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 143,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quickening/pseuds/Quickening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get interesting at the Last Chance Garage when Charley's cousin decides to attend college in Chicago. The bros have never met anyone quite like Alley before, and she's definitely not met anyone like them. They'd like to hit it off, but she seems less than interested. What's a mouse got to do to get a little attention around here? *Slight revision done*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> There are other stories I ought to be working on, but this idea has been rattling around in my brain for awhile now, and I figure the only way to get it to leave me alone is to actually sit down and write it. It's still sort of half-assed and still in development, but I'll post what I have as I have it. Besides, there isn't nearly enough Biker Mice fanfiction out there. Must do my part to increase the fandom, no matter how old it might be.
> 
> Okay. THIS IS IMPORTANT. This story can be considered slightly AU, in that it takes place in the 21st century (exact year not mentioned).
> 
> Also, it is sort of a mash-up of both the original 1996 AND 2006 series. Earth and Mars are still under attack by Plutarkians. However, there are mentions of the Regenerator and Stoker plays a large role.
> 
> Finally, Charley and the bros are all in their mid/late twenties age-wise. Stoker is pushing late forties.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Biker Mice from Mars or any of its characters. I do, however, own Alley. Yes, there's an OC in this fic and yes, she will likely be hooking up with one of the mice. Only warning you'll get. Don't like OC pairings, feel free to click back.

     When the trio rumbled up to the Last Chance Garage, they were greeted with the sight of Charley setting a box on the curb, just beside a pile of other boxes. “Hey, Sweetheart! Didja miss me?” Vinnie called with a cheeky grin.

     Charley snorted. “Oh, sure. It’s been a whole twelve hours since I saw you. I’ve been pining away for your obnoxious self ever since,” she retorted, brushing off her hands.

    “Ouch, babe. That cuts deep.” Vinnie dramatically pressed a hand to his heart, shaking his head sadly. Charley’s lips twitched as she rolled her eyes and turned to stalk back into the garage.

    “Doin’ a little housekeeping, Charley-girl?” Throttle dubiously eyed the teetering stack of boxes over his field specs.

    “As a matter of fact, I’m cleaning out all the junk stored in the spare room. You guys are just in time to help,” she replied sweetly.

    Vinnie didn’t even try to hide his dismayed groan, and was rewarded with a smack across the back of his head, courtesy of Modo’s metal hand. He yelped and glared, rubbing his skull as he followed the big gray mouse into the garage and up to the Charley's apartment.

    “We’ll be glad to help, Charley Ma’am,” Modo rumbled. “But why the sudden clear-out?”

    “I’m expecting company.” Charley riffled through a shoebox, wrote something on the lid with a black Sharpie, and stacked it in a corner with a few other boxes. “She'll need a place to crash, and this is the only spare room I've got.”

    The mice glanced at each other. “This the part where you tell us to get lost for awhile until the coast is clear?” Throttle asked.

    Charley glanced at him, surprised. “Of course not! This place is practically your home, too. I wouldn’t kick you out just like that,” she scolded. “Besides, she’ll be staying for awhile.”

    “So … you’ll be telling your friend about us?” The trio glanced at each other. They weren’t entirely keen on the idea of yet another human knowing of their existence. Too many knew of them already in that particular area of Chicago, no thanks to Limburger. The people they’d saved kept their mouths shut about hairy alien riders protecting the slum streets of the city, and they’d managed to remain fairly inconspicuous so far, but their luck wouldn’t hold out forever.

    “Relax, fellas.” Charley rested her crossed arms on the pile of larger boxes stacked on the floor, regarding them with a whimsical smile. “No need to get your tails in a knot. Alley’s my cousin. She’s moving out here from Florida to attend college. I offered her a place to stay to help save on living costs. Why pay even more money for boarding when I've got a perfectly good room going to waste?”

    The trio relaxed. Any family member of Charley’s automatically made her an extended member of their own. “You think she’ll like us?” Vinnie asked, always anxious to make a good impression. Or _any_ impression, really, good or otherwise.

    Charley pursed her lips in thought. “Well, I’ll definitely have to warn her about you three before you actually meet each other,” she replied slowly. “Honestly, I have no idea how she’ll react. I haven’t actually seen her face-to-face for almost ten years.”

    “Why so long?” Modo looked troubled; probably thinking of his own family, whom he hadn't seen in a long while, either. “Don’t seem right, not seein’ your family for so long.”

    _Especially since you’re all on the same planet_ was left unspoken, but Charley understood, and she offered him a sympathetic smile. “Can’t be helped. I moved out here to Chi-town, and not too long after that, her parents relocated to Florida so her dad could start his own garage. Our dads are brothers, and they shared the family business, but…“ She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

    “Something happened?” Throttle asked gently. Charley didn’t often talk about her family, and they never pressed the issue, although they were curious about what her life had been like before Chicago. They knew bits and pieces, minor things she’d shared over the years, but they understood all too well that some things just couldn’t be spoken of. They all had skeletons in their closets, as the human saying went.

    Charley ran a hand through her mussed hair. “They had … differences of opinion on how the place should be run,” she replied slowly.

    “Ah. A family falling-out?”

    She sighed. “Something like that. My dad and uncle … they’re both pretty strong-willed. And they both had their own ideas on how to make the garage successful. It … got pretty nasty toward the end, before they decided it was best to just sort of go their own ways. Alley’s mom got sick, not too long after that. A pretty strong infection in the lungs, I think. The doctors recommended she be moved to warmer climates, so in order to save the family, and Aunt Viv, they decided it was best to move south. Uncle Chuck found a garage that was in danger of going under, bought it out, and completely turned it around. It’s a pretty successful bodywork and detailing shop now. I think some of the cars he repainted even appeared in magazines. He specializes in the antiques and classics.”

    “What about your aunt?” Vinnie asked. “She get any better?”

    Charley smiled. “Yeah, the infection cleared up within a few months. Last I heard, she’s co-manager of a popular cafe. Let me tell you, the woman can bake. Her cakes and pastries are to die for.” She sighed wistfully. “I haven’t had one of her homemade whoopie pies in … forever.”

    “And the brothers?” Modo asked quietly. “They still on the outs?”

    “No.” She flashed him a small grin. “Since they don’t actually have to work together or see each other every day, they get along pretty well. They take turns visiting over holidays, but they’re all so busy, it doesn’t happen a lot. Oh, my mom said they were kinda stubborn, giving each other the silent treatment and all that. Neither one of ‘em wanted to apologize first, but Mom and Viv can be pretty persuasive when their men are bein’ stupid.” She chuckled. “The family is fine now. Don’t worry, fellas.”

    “So how come you don’t go see ‘em?” Vinnie asked. “You haven’t left this city since we’ve known you!”

    “Oh, I haven’t left it way before that,” she snorted. “In case you lunkheads haven’t noticed, I’ve pretty much got my hands full, runnin’ the Last Chance. Throw in everything that’s been happening with Limburger, and, well…” She shrugged. “It ain’t like I never talk to them or anything! There’s email, and we call each other on occasion. Alley writes me actual letters, too. Says traditional letter writing is becoming a lost art form. Sometimes I even write back, though I’m not quite as eloquent about it.” She chuckled. “Anyway, when she told me she’d decided to attend college in Chicago, and asked if she could stop to visit, I offered her the guest room to live in, and here we are.”

    “So when’s she arrivin’?” Modo asked.

    “She’s on her way as we speak, actually. But she’s driving cross-country, so it’ll take her a few days to get to Illinois. She thinks she’ll be here by Saturday. So do me a favor and hide out at the scoreboard over the weekend, ‘til I get her settled in and have a chance to talk to her.”

    “Will do, Charley-girl.”

    “Thanks, guys.” Charley hefted a box and plopped it into Vinnie’s arms. “In the meantime, there’s plenty of stuff to shift around. How about you three work on clearing out this room? I’ve already marked where everything needs to go, either the hall closet or the curb for trash pickup.”

    “And what will you be doing while we’re up here doing the manual labor?” Vinnie grumbled as Charley descended the staircase into the garage.

    “What else? Earning a living by fixing busted engines! This place doesn’t run itself, ya know!”

~*~*~*~*~

    Saturday rolled around, and Charley spent most of it working on a sleek black Mustang that had met the wrong end of a truck, due to the careless driving of the Mustang’s owner, who had miraculously walked away mostly unscathed. The car hadn’t been so lucky.

     She’d already managed to put the mangled insides of the Mustang back together, which had felt more like assembling a jigsaw puzzle than a car. It had taken her nearly two weeks to finish, but finally she was done. When she turned the ignition key, she couldn’t hold back the triumphant whoop when the engine turned over and started purring like a contented cat. She might complain about her job, but nothing beat the heady rush of pride and satisfaction she always felt over a job _spectacularly_ done.

     Well, for the most part. The engine was finished, but now she needed to put the mangled body back together and then have it towed to a detail shop across town for a new paint job. She’d have to enlist the guys’ help for the heavy lifting, but at least all the parts she’d ordered had come in. Their boxes were currently piled carefully against the wall, waiting to be unpacked. She’d start on that tomorrow.

    The purr of an approaching engine caught her attention. Well, it wasn’t a purr so much as a sick-sounding rumble. Somebody seemed to be having car trouble. She glanced at the clock on the wall over the service desk. It was nine forty-five, long past closing-time. And long past due for her cousin to show up. She frowned and rose from her seat, stretching the kinks out of her back as she walked to the door. Then she stood and stared with her mouth slightly agape as a huge green, pink, and yellow flowered … _monstrosity_ of a classic Volkswagen Bus pulled up, coughing and grinding to a halt. There was a sputter, as of the beast giving up its last, wheezing breath; a hiss of smoke and steam rose from its backside, and then the front door opened and a young woman climbed awkwardly out of the driver’s seat, hopping to the ground with a triumphant “Made it!"

    Charley blinked in astonishment at the blond-haired woman, who was nearly as colorful as her ride with her mid-length hair liberally streaked in rainbow hues, and a flowing white peasant top and stonewashed jeans embroidered with flowers and butterflies. “A-Alley Cat?” she stammered.

    The girl grinned. “Well, look at you! Aren’t you the regular grease monkey,” she teased, eyeballing Charley’s filthy coveralls.

    Charley relaxed and grinned back. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a moment. Boy, you sure grew up, huh?” Alley stood almost as tall as she did, and in no way resembled the little grass-stained tomboy who had followed her everywhere and constantly tackled her into wrestling matches when they were growing up.

    “You sure you didn’t just shrink?” Alley shot back, and Charley snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. “I see your smart mouth didn’t change, though.”

    “Never! It’s my most attractive feature.”

    “C'mere, you.” Before Alley could protest, Charley pulled her into a brief hug, careful not to get grease on the younger woman’s clothes. “It’s so good to see you! How’re things in Florida? How’re Chuck and Viv doing?”

    “Florida is … Florida. Hot. Sticky. Lots of old people driving around who _really_ shouldn't be allowed to. My parents are great, though. Dad’s shop is as popular as ever. You know, he refinished a Rolls Royce for some celebrity or something, and got invited to this swanky party as a thank you. He took Mom with him. They were rubbing elbows with all these movies stars and such. Mom loved it. She can’t stop bragging about how she got to meet Johnny Depp,” Alley laughed. “Dad’s pretty pleased with himself. Mom hasn’t nagged him for anything for the past two weeks!” She poked Charley in the arm. “Anyway, what about you? Ya never call, ya never write. Glad I didn’t show up to find your decomposing body being eaten by wild dogs or something.”

    “Yeah, yeah. I told you, it’s been sorta crazy around here for the last few years.” Charley chuckled nervously, scratching her arm and wondering when would actually be a good time to tell her cousin about the consistent alien invasions happening right under the government’s nose, not to mention her alien house guests. She decided to change the topic for the moment, turning to the smoking bus. “So. From what hellhole did you manage to dig this thing up? You didn't pay actual money for it, did you?”

    “ _Shhhh!_ She'll hear you!” Alley lovingly stroked a stylized flower on the bus’s door. “Priscilla is very sensitive, you know.”

    “Priscilla?” Charley couldn’t keep the bark of laughter down.

    “What? It’s not like you’ve never named any of your cars.”

    “Well, yeah … but _Priscilla_?”

    “It’s a classic name for a classic lady,” Alley sniffed.

    “Just how classic are we talkin’ here?” Charley eyed the bus. “Early seventies model?”

    “Late sixties, actually. Sixty-seven, I think? I found it and Dad repainted it for me as my sixteenth birthday present.”

    “Uh-huh. And how old are you now?”

    “Just turned twenty!” Alley announced proudly.

    Charley circled the bus, shaking her head. “What happened? When did the trouble start?”

    “It was doing great the first three days, but today I was driving only a few hours and it started acting up. Had to stop a few times to let it cool down. I didn’t think I was actually gonna make it today, but we managed to push through. Priscilla is very good like that.”

    “You probably should’ve taken it to an auto shop instead of going on. You might’ve just killed Priscilla,” Charley scolded. “That smoke there? Generally _not_ a good thing to see coming from any engine, especially an antique like this.”

    “Uh, hello. I _did_ take it to an auto shop.” Alley raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Charley rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean!”

    “Look, classes start soon. I just wanted to get here and get settled so I can prepare for them. Besides, I know _you_ won’t try and rip me off and tell me there’s more work that needs done on the bus than actually does."

    “I’m not so sure they’d actually be ripping you off,” Charley sighed. “Well, I’ll take a look at it, but it’ll have to wait awhile. I’ve got my hands full at the moment. In the meantime, grab a couple of suitcases and I’ll help carry ’em up. I’ve got a room ready for you. It’s pretty basic, but you can fill it out with what you need. We can unpack the rest of the van tomorrow.”

    “Will it be safe, sitting here overnight? This doesn’t exactly look like the classier side of town.”

    “It isn’t, but Priscilla will be safe enough. She’s not going anywhere in her condition. Unless you want to help me push her into the garage…?”

    “Right. Tomorrow it is. Can you grab Mercedes from the front seat for me?”

    “And who’s Mercedes?” Charley teased as she opened the passenger door. “Your comput- _Jiminy Christmas_ , Ally! What the hell is _that_?”

    Alley blinked at her cousin, who had jumped back from the bus as if she’d been yanked. “That’s Mercedes. I did tell you I’m bringing a pet with me, didn’t I?”

    Charley pressed a hand to her heart, releasing a deep breath. “I do seem to recall something about that,” she muttered. “But I thought you were talkin’ about a goldfish or hamster or something. I wasn’t expecting a rat!”

    “Sorry, I didn’t realize she’d bother you.” Alley opened the door of the carry cage and scooped the cream-and-brown rodent into her hand. “I used to have pet mice and gerbils when I was a kid, and you never minded those. A rat isn’t that much different.”

    “There are some people who would disagree with that assessment,” Charley replied around a dry chuckle. “Just … keep her in your room, okay?”

    “Sure, I wasn’t planning on letting her run loose in the building or anything. Want to hold her? She doesn’t bite,” Alley offered, and added a teasing, “You’re not _squeamish_ , are you?” when her cousin hesitated.

    “Don’t be silly,” Charley snorted as she accepted the squirming bundle of fur, who proceeded to scramble up her arm and crawl across her shoulders. She squeaked and hunched when she felt cold little paws and twitching whiskers tickle the back of her neck, before Alley reached out to pluck Mercedes from her opposite shoulder. “It’s just I know some guys who … _really_ don’t like rats. Guess I grew a bit biased without even realizing it.”

    “Awww, who could not like this adorable little face?” Alley cooed as she leaned in and nuzzled her nose against Mercedes’s muzzle. She got a lick in response, and Charley chuckled. “Okay, I admit she’s cute. Now come on in and let me show you the place. Hope you don't mind crashing on the couch for a day or two. Still haven't gotten a bed into the spare room yet."

    “Hey, after three nights of cheap roadside motel rooms, I’d be willing to sleep on the floor at this point. It's probably cleaner than any of those beds were.”

 


	2. Two

    Charley woke to the scent of fresh coffee and what smelled like baked oatmeal, which was one scent she hadn't experienced since leaving home. She sniffed the air and padded into the kitchen, finding Alley already at the table, sipping from a mug that looked like it contained more milk than actual coffee. Her hair was piled in a messy bun atop her head, and she wore a pair of tiny boxer shorts and a tank top for pajamas. Charley wondered if she ought to warn her about her sleeping attire in future. Last thing she needed was her boys to get an eyeful of her cousin dressed like that. Vinnie would be incorrigible! And poor, modest Modo would most likely have a stroke. Throttle, well … that guy was such an emotional enigma, he could probably go either way.

    “This smells good.” Charley inhaled deeply, pulling back the dish towel draped over a pan of steaming oatmeal. “Your mom’s recipe?“

    “Naturally.”

    “Did I know I even had ingredients to make this?”

    “Doubt it. I pulled ‘em from the back of your pantry. They’re probably expired, so if we die of food poisoning, I apologize ahead of time,” Alley teased.

    “Funny.”

    “By the way, I _have_ to know. I was digging through your fridge and … do you have some sort of a root beer fetish or something? I’m not sure I even wanna _know_ about the hotdogs...”

    “Ah, yeah.” Charley smiled sheepishly. “I’ve got some friends and they kind of live on the stuff. So, I keep the place well-stocked for their visits.”

    “Hmm.” Alley sipped her coffee. “Are these the same ‘friends’ who are unfairly bigoted toward rats?”

    “Oh, stop it.” Charley chuckled as she cut a large square of the oatmeal. “They’re good guys. They’ve just … had some major issues with rat infestation at home, so they’re kind of on bad terms with the whole lot of ‘em. Besides that, the boys are really looking forward to meeting you, so maybe try and play nice, huh?”

    “The boys, is it? Hey. You’re not trying to set me _up_ or anything, are you?” Alley regarded her with a teasing glimmer in her eye.

    Charley laughed outright. “Trust me, kid. I doubt these guys are anywhere _close_ to your type.”

* * *

     The Last Chance Garage was usually closed for business on Sundays, to give Charley a chance to catch up on backlogged work and make any necessary repairs or upgrades to the guys’ bikes. Really, the way they treated those beautiful machines, she was surprised they didn’t turn around and dump their riders on their furry asses in protest.

     This time, Alley dragged her downtown to a nicer part of the city, where they spent the day furniture shopping for the spare room. Alley managed to find a decent bed and a three-drawer dresser in an antique shop, which she insisted on paying for despite Charley's offer to buy. “I’ve been working jobs since I was fifteen, and I've got a nice amount of money saved up. And since I’m attending school on scholarships, I can afford to blow a little,” she said.

    “You’re gonna have to blow more on decent clothes for yourself in a couple of months,” Charley reminded her. “You aren’t exactly packed for winter weather, you know.”

    “Hmmm, winter.” Alley tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You know, I think I’ve heard of that…”

    Charley snorted. “Laugh it up, but when the temp drops below fifty degrees, you’ll be begging for a pair of good thermal underwear. I somehow don’t think Daisy Dukes and a tank top will cut it.”

    She eyed Alley’s ensemble, again reminding herself to have a talk about her cousin’s wardrobe choices around the guys. Alley was already drawing enough attention from every male who passed them. They all gawked openly at the slender young woman, whose golden-tanned skin was complimented nicely by the white short-shorts and baby-pink camisole top she wore. Her colorful hair was still pulled into its bun, revealing the delicate tattoo of a blue and purple filigree butterfly gracing the back of her neck. In mid-August, the Chicago streets were stifling with heat, but she seemed unaffected, having grown up in a near-tropical climate for almost a decade. Charley felt positively frumpy in comparison.

    “Well, lets get this stuff back to the garage,” she sighed, closing the rear gate of her pickup. “It’s almost supper time.”

    “Question. How the hell are we going to get all this up into the apartment?” Alley asked. “The hall at the top of the stairs is kinda narrow.”

    “Well, If we have to, we can disassemble the bed frame and dresser and carry them up in pieces.”

    “And what about the boxspring and mattress?” Alley eyed them skeptically. “Glad I went for the single. A full would never make it.”

    “Don’t worry. There’s a fire escape outside your window. And the window itself should be tall enough. We can probably hoist them in that way.”

    “All by ourselves?” Alley groaned, not liking the idea at all.

    “Nah. I’ll be enlisting some manual labor to help move all this stuff. They'll be here first thing tomorrow.”

* * *

    As expected, Vinnie, Modo, and Throttle were less than thrilled with the idea of moving heavy furniture. Even the promise of root beer and hotdogs didn’t cease Vinnie’s grumbling … although the promise of finally getting to meet Alley did.

    Within an hour of calling, Charley heard their bikes rumble up to the garage, passing a recently-added sensor that automatically opened the wide metal doors; a bell installed above the doors went off, loudly announcing the arrival of customers. It also doubled as a fire alarm. Such a handy system, this was. Charley wished she’d thought of installing it years ago. She’d have probably saved herself a lot of trashed garage doors due to the guys’ constant, overenthusiastic entrances.

    “Hey, right on time,” she called from the stairs.

    Vinnie hopped off his bike, pulling his helmet off. He had a funny look on his face. So did the other two, for that matter. “Sweetheart, what the hell is that … that _thing_ parked out front?” he demanded, his tail twitching.

    Charley blinked as she climbed down to the garage. “What thing?” She glanced outside, and then it dawned on her. She had to laugh at the matching expressions of disgust on their furry faces. “What, you never seen a VW Bus before?”

    “It’s … it’s…” Vinnie was clearly at a loss for words.

    “Colorful?” she supplied helpfully, her lips still twitching.

    “I’d have gone with ‘eye-gouging‘, but yeah,” Throttle replied.

    “Who would actually _own_ something like that?” Modo added with a snort.

    Charley raised an eyebrow. “My cousin, actually.”

    His eye widened. “Er, meanin’ no disrespect to Alley Ma’am or anything…”

    “Relax,” she chuckled. “Alley has some … unique tastes, that’s all. I’m inclined to agree with your description, but don’t tell her I said that.”

    “You gonna just leave it sit out there? It’ll probably drive away business,” Vinnie snorted. “No self-respectin’ biker would be caught dead in a garage with that sitting in front of it.”

    “I’ll manage,” she said wryly. “It arrived almost dead in the water, so it ain’t going anywhere for awhile. Although if you macho mice could help me push it into the garage sometime today, I’d be grateful. I need to check the engine over when I get a little free time.”

    “Be glad to help,” Modo offered.

    “Great. But, first order of business. Give me five minutes and then come on up. I gotta go give Alley a heads-up about your arrival.”

    “You did tell her about us, right?” Throttle asked.

    “Weeell…”

    “Charley-girl!”

    “Look, there is _no way_ to describe three walking, talking alien mice without sounding bat-shit crazy,” Charley laughed. “I’ll warn her, okay? But she’s gotta see for herself, or she’ll never believe it.”

    The trio glanced at each other as Charley disappeared up the stairs. Well. _This_ was bound to get interesting.

* * *

    “Hey, Alley Cat?” Charley poked her head into the bedroom. Her cousin was seated cross-legged on the floor, feeding Mercedes a slice of apple with peanut butter spread over it. “Is that healthy?” she asked.

    “A little treat every once in awhile won’t kill her. She’s had a long trip.” Alley scooped the rat up, kissed the top of her little head, and deposited her into a rather impressive three-tiered cage sitting in the corner. “What’s up?”

    “Oh, the guys are here. Wanna come meet them?”

    “Sure!” Alley jumped up, but stopped when she found her way blocked. “Okay, what?” she asked, noting the uneasy expression on the other woman’s face.

    “I need to warn you … the guys are a little … _unusual_ ,” Charley hedged.

    “How so?”

    “Well, they look a little different.”

    “Such as?

    Charley thought for a moment. “Excessive body hair?” she offered after a moment.

    Alley giggled. “Okay, so they don’t wax. Not like I’ve never seen that before. Hello! I grew up on the beach! You’d be amazed at the amount of body hair I’ve been forced to look at over the years.”

    “That’s not exactly what I meant.” Charley scratched her head, clearly at a loss. She glanced at the cage and brightened. “Think of Mercedes!” she exclaimed. “Only … male. And a lot taller. With more muscle. And biker clothes.”

    “What, you’re telling me you’ve got giant biker rats in your living room? Better call the exterminator!” Alley laughed and ducked under Charley’s arm, heading down the short hallway to the living room … where she came to a screeching halt and gaped in stunned wonder at the three furry … creatures standing by the stairs.

    “Charley. Y-you’ve got … _giant biker rats_ in your living room!”

    Charley slapped a hand over her eyes. “Whoa boy. Now you’ve gone and done it,” she groaned, not sure if she was talking to Alley, or herself.

    Alley squeaked and hastily backpedaled when the huge gray rat with a metal arm stepped forward, its single red eye taking on a demonic glow. “Rats!” it growled. “My mama didn’t--”

    “ _Easy_ there, big guy,” the one covered in tawny gold fur hastily cut in, his voice full of warning. “She doesn’t know.”

    “Yeah, simmer down, Modo, you’re scarin’ the poor kid!” The last one to speak had glossy white fur and a metal plate covering half his face. He offered a reassuring smile to the ashen-faced woman, who merely moved further back until she bumped into her cousin.

    “Alley Cat?” Charley shook her shoulder gently. “ _Breathe_ , honey. It’s okay.”

    Alley shook her head slowly. “Jiminy _Christmas_ , Charley,” she uttered softly. Right before her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted dead away.

 


	3. Three

   Charley suddenly found herself grappling with a hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight. “Fantastic,” she grunted, hefting Alley's slumped form in her arms. “Way to make a first impression, you lunkheads. One of you care to help me out here?”

   The mice snapped out of their stupor and Vinnie hurried forward, scooping up the unconscious woman and carefully depositing her onto the worn couch that had been made up as a bed. “What can I say?” he preened. “No woman can resist this studly bod! They’re just overcome by my sheer awesomeness.”

   “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, pal. Maybe someday it’ll come true.”

   Vinnie pouted and whipped his tail at his snickering bros. “So what’ll we do with Sleeping Beauty here?”

   “Will she be all right?” Modo hovered over the couch, looking worried. “I didn’t mean to scare the little lady.”

   “It’s okay, big guy.” Charley patted his arm. “Give her a few minutes. She’ll come around.”

   “Maybe we should clear out before that happens.”

   “She’s gotta get used to you at _some_ point. Better now than never. But … maybe give her some breathing space, huh?” Charley eyed the three hovering males with amusement as they hastily backed away from the couch. And then she bit back a curse when the bell went off in the garage. She checked the wall clock and sighed. “Damn. Opening time already?” She looked torn. “I hate to leave Alley alone, after what happened…”

   “Want us to hang around until she wakes up?”

   “I dunno if that's such a good idea. All three of you might be too much for her.”

   “So, one of us stays and the others come back later. Someone needs to explain things to her.”

   “I’ll do it!” Vinnie volunteered eagerly.

   “We need to _reassure_ her. I don’t wanna come back and find her curled up in a whimpering little ball in the back of a closet,” Charley snorted.

   “Hey!” he protested over more snickers.

   “I’d do it,” Modo said slowly, “but I guess I sorta blew it a bit. I’d probably just scare her again.” His ears drooped and he looked so dejected that Charley gave him a hug.

   “She’ll get over it. It’s half my fault, anyway. I should’ve told her a little sooner, I guess.” She turned to Throttle. “Aside from Modo, you’re the calmest and most diplomatic. You’re probably the best choice in the matter.”

   “Swell,” Throttle sighed, settling back into an armchair to wait. Well, it beat lugging furniture up a flight of stairs, at least.

* * *

   He was bored.

   Nope. Scratch that. He was _really_ bored. He was starting to regret ever agreeing to this whole babysitting gig, especially since there were so many more interesting things he could've been doing. Like flossing his teeth, or picking the lint out from under his toenails. He heaved a heavy sigh and switched positions, folding one leg across his knee and resting his chin on his fist. The fingers of his other hand drummed an impatient rhythm against the armrest of the chair he'd been sitting in for _way_ too long.

   Twenty minutes had already passed, and Alley was still out for the count. He shot her an irritated glance, wondering—not for the first time—how two such completely different people could come from the same family. Sure, Charley had been afraid of them, too, but she hadn't fainted like some delicate little snowflake. She'd threatened to knock his head off when he got too close! Now _that_ was someone he could admire.

   He sighed again, putting some extra _oomph_ into it, in the hopes of drawing the little princess out of her slumber. No such luck. He pouted, then decided that, since he was sitting there, he might as well take a closer look. So, he slid off the chair and knee-walked over to the couch, where he proceeded to give his charge a critical once-over.

   Sure. Watching a lady sleep might be considered sort of stalkerish and creepy by some people, but some people weren't there, and Alley was far more interesting to look at than the wall. He had to admit; she was kind of pretty, for a wimp. Charley hadn't been kidding about her _unique tastes_ , though. She looked like a dead rainbow. Bright colors streaked through her pale knot of hair. Each of her fingernails was painted with a different shade of glittery polish, and a lacy purple butterfly was tattooed on her right hand between her thumb and forefinger. The fingers of her left were decorated with silver rings. So were her ears—two piercings on the left, one on the right—and crystal stars and a moon dangled from the tiny hoops.

   Her face was made up, too. Smokey eyelids, thickened lashes, and a shiny, pink gloss slicked across her mouth. Throttle found the whole concept of makeup strange. Charley almost never wore it, and of course no female mouse _could_ wear it because of the mess it would make of their fur. It clearly wasn't practical, but the affect _was_ rather alluring. Especially the way those full, pink lips glistened, drawing his attention almost against his will.

   It was probably a _good_ thing that Alley chose that moment to finally rejoin the land of the living.

   Throttle bit back a yelp and all but scrambled back into his chair, sitting with hands folded primly in his lap, the very picture of innocence as the girl slowly stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked at the ceiling for a moment, then scowled and muttered to herself, “ _Weird_ dream. That's what I get for mixing expired cream into my coffee.”

   Throttle chuckled despite himself, and the sudden noise made Alley yip and sit up … a little too quickly, apparently. She gripped the back of the couch for a moment, before cautiously taking a quick glance around. And Throttle suddenly found himself looking into the biggest blue eyes he'd ever seen. They reminded him of the blue crystal formations found in the deepest caverns of his home planet, clear and bright and piercing. 

   Unfortunately, so was her voice. Which she demonstrated by opening her pretty pink lips and letting loose a shriek that made his teeth vibrate in the back of his skull. He cringed into his seat, clapped his hands to his ringing ears, and wondered how such a big noise could come out of such a small woman.

   “Lower the volume, lady! I'm not deaf,” he grumbled. _Yet._

   She responded by attempting to burrow into the back of the couch in a bid to get as far away from him as possible. Throttle was insulted. Geez, you'd think he had _fleas_ or something, the way she was acting! But, as the last thing he wanted to do was make her pass out again, he gathered all the patience he could muster and held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Easy there, Sweetheart,” he crooned in his softest voice. “I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just here to make sure you're okay.”

   Alley glanced wildly around the empty apartment. “ _Charley!_ ” she bellowed.

   Throttle winced. So much for not going deaf. “She’s in the garage. A customer came in or she wouldn’t have left you alone. She'll be back in a bit,” he explained, still keeping his voice as low and soothing as possible. He didn't get it; he'd been told on more than one occasion that his voice could make any female (and possibly some males) swoon right into his arms. Hell, he'd used it on Carbine on more than one occasion in the past, with _spectacular_ results. But for some reason, it just didn't seem to be working right on Alley.

   Talk about a blow to the ego.

   Alley had given up on yelling and was now curled up in the corner of the couch, using the afghan like a flimsy shield. “Wh-what are you?” Her voice quavered, and she looked ready to burst into tears.

   He sighed. Swell. The _last_ thing he needed was a crying, hysterical woman on his hands. The _non_ -crying version was irritating enough. “My name is Throttle Thorneboy. Just so you know, I’m a mouse, not a rat. I come from the planet Mars.” He gestured to the red antenna atop his head.

   Alley’s eyes slowly followed the gesture, studying the appendages, before lowering to look the rest of him over. “A … Martian mouse.”

   “Yep."

   She chewed on her lip for a moment, glanced around before asking, “Weren’t there … three of you?”

   Oh, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about them. “Ah, yeah. My bros, Modo Maverick and Vincent Van Wham. We, uh, decided it was probably better to wait a bit before proper introduction. Until, you know, things got explained a bit more. They'll be back later.”

   Alley didn’t look particularly happy to hear it. “Why are you in Chicago? And how did you meet my cousin?”

   “That’s kind of a long story,” he sighed.

   She frowned. “You don’t want to tell me?”

   “It’s more like … it’d probably be easier if I _showed_ you.” He eased off the chair and crept closer, hesitating when she edged away. “May I?” He pointed to his antenna. “I can transmit my memories through these, from my mind straight into yours. It'll be faster than talking.”

   Her eyes widened. “You’re telepathic?”

   He sought to reassure her before she started screaming again. “In a sense. We can’t transmit direct thought unless we’re in physical contact. But we are empathic, capable of picking up on heightened emotion from a distance.” He peered over the rim of his specs and met her eyes. “You don't have to be afraid. I promise it won't hurt you. You can ask Charley; I once used the same method on her and she's never suffered any ill-effects.”

   Alley hesitated another second, then took a deep breath, gathering her composure, and nodded once. She closed her eyes, startled a little when he nudged her chin up and gripped the back of her head. He pressed his antenna to her temples and opened his mind. She jerked, but he'd been expecting that and held her still, knowing the sudden explosion of information pouring into her head would be a bit overwhelming to a human. He kept the stream slow and steady and mentally explained what she was seeing, and she gradually relaxed as understanding replaced fear. He showed her everything that had happened, from the complete strip-mining of Mars by the Plutarkians, to the present struggle to prevent Limburger from doing the same thing to Earth.

   It only took a few minutes, and when he finally withdrew, Alley opened her eyes and stared at him, looking stunned. “Wow,” was all she said.

   “Yup.” He chuckled. “That about sums it up.”

   She shook her head. “Well, I guess that explains why half of Chicago looks like the aftermath of a natural disaster.” She eased back, drawing her knees up to her chin. “Does this happen a lot? With the whole thwarting evil and … blowing up that guy’s tower and such?”

   “Once or twice a month,” Throttle replied. “Usually depends on how fast old Cheese Head can rebuild. It’s been pretty quiet lately, though. Makes me think he’s up to something. His tower’s probably due for another toppling any day now.”

   “And Charley is dragged into this war _how_ often?”

   Nope. She definitely did _not_ sound happy about the casual way he spoke of wanton destruction.

   “Easy, Alley-girl. That’s what we’re here for, to make sure nothing happens to her,” he tried to reassure her.

   “But stuff _does_ happen. She’s been kidnapped already, a few times!”

   He pouted. “We’ve always gotten her back again! It isn't like we _willingly_ let her go charging into danger. We try to leave her behind where it’s safe, but she's pretty stubborn. You should see how well she handles a rocket launcher, though.”

   Alley did _not_ look impressed.

   Throttle decided it was probably time to change the subject. “So, uh, Charley-girl tells us you’re here to attend school,” he began awkwardly, after a few long moments of silence.

   She blinked. “Yes. College.”

   Aaaand, apparently she wasn't much of a talker. Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to _him_. While Charley had warmed right up to the trio—He supposed saving her life repeatedly within the first few hours of meeting probably had something to do with that—Alley still looked like she was ready to head for the hills.

   For the love of Mars, what did it take to get this girl to relax? She was wound tighter than Vinnie on a sugar binge! Throttle drummed his fingers on the armrest again, considered whether he ought to go drag Charley back up, or even call his bros back … anything so he didn’t have to be in this supremely awkward situation all by himself.

   And then, a long, low growl greeted his sensitive ears. Alley blushed and clapped her arms across her stomach. He had to chuckle at the embarrassment on her face. “You hungry, huh?”

   “No shit, Sherlock,” she grumbled. “I didn't get around to breakfast yet.”

   He raised an eyebrow. _Finally._ A spark of something other than quivering terror. They were making progress! “You can go ahead and eat,” he offered gallantly.

   She slowly got to her feet. “You, um, you don’t have to stay here. If you ... have other places you need to be.” She sounded so _hopeful_.

   And she’d just handed him the out he’d been so desperately wishing for! Why wasn’t he scrambling to _take_ it?

   Maybe it was because he felt just a _bit_ offended that she was still so eager to get rid of him.

   Or maybe he was too distracted by the second tattoo he’d just spotted on the back of her neck; a larger, more colorful version of the one on her hand.

   Then again, even that wasn't nearly as distracting as the way the thin strap of her fluttery, lacy, very girly top kept trying to slip down her shoulder. Or the way the tight black jean shorts she wore under it hugged her hips and butt. He gulped and quickly dropped his gaze, then blinked. Good grief, even her _toenails_ were painted. A bright, glossy purple that matched the color of her shirt.

   “Do … uh … do you want some?”

   Throttle guiltily jerked his gaze to meet Alley's; apparently he'd been staring just a _little_ too hard. She had set a glass casserole dish full of … something unfamiliar on the table, and was now regarding him with a questioning look. His nose twitched as the scent of cinnamon tickled his senses. “Sure,” he agreed, before common sense could catch up with his brain. “Er, what is it?”

   She tilted her head. “It’s baked oatmeal. You’ve never eaten oatmeal before?”

   “Can’t say I have. We don’t have oatmeal on Mars.”

   “Yes, but … Oh. You’re why Charley keeps the fridge packed with soda and hot dogs, huh?”

   He grinned. “Yeah. Good stuff, that. Can't get that on Mars, either.”

   She considered. “Is that really _all_ you eat? It can’t be good for you.”

   “Hasn’t killed us yet,” he replied with a chuckle.

   She snorted. “Give it time. I’m sure your heart will give out eventually.”

   He scoffed. “Nah, we’re made of stronger stuff than _that_.”

   Alley seemed to realize that she was fighting a losing battle. She simply shrugged, cut two large squares of the oatmeal and put them into shallow bowls. While they heated in the microwave, she dug around in the fridge and withdrew a fresh gallon of milk and a can of whipped cream. “I take mine with milk and cream,” she told him. “You can try it with or without.”

   “Can’t say I’ve ever had milk, either,” he admitted, eyeballing the bottle with distaste.

   She gaped. “Seriously? Not once?”

   “There aren’t a lot of milk-producing mammals on Mars,” he explained. “Aside from us mice. And the rats. And the sand raiders. And maybe one or two other species that are usually too busy trying to eat us to let someone … eh…”

   “Milk them?”

   “Yeah. Ugh.”

   She actually cracked a _smile_ at that. He noted that her teeth were shiny white, but a little crooked. She pulled a small glass out of the cabinet and poured it half-full of milk, offering it to him. He regarded it with a raised eyebrow. She raised hers in silent challenge. “Just try it. This came from a cow, incidentally.”

   “And that makes it better … how?” But he accepted the glass, because he was _finally_ getting her to relax and didn't want to ruin it by being rude. Took a cautious sip. Let it roll around in his mouth a bit before swallowing. It was … not as horrible as expected. But it was an odd texture; kind of thick, with a faintly sweet taste. He could feel it coating his tongue and throat and wasn’t sure he liked that. He also wasn’t used to drinking anything that wasn’t carbonated aside from water.

   “So?”

   “Eh. I think I prefer the root beer.” But he finished the glass in two more gulps, because she was smiling at him again.

   Her grin widened. “You’ve got a little…” She gestured at her mouth; he raised his hand and was embarrassed to find a ring of cream soaking the fur on his muzzle. “Don’t worry. Milk mustaches are pretty normal for the uninitiated,” she teased, taking the heated oatmeal from the microwave and sliding one of the bowls across the table to him. She added a bit of milk and a healthy dollop of whipped cream on top of hers, and dug in.

   He followed her example and took a cautious bite; he _had_ tried different Earth foods in the past, but most of them tended to be fried, grilled, and heavily seasoned. This, however, was surprisingly good. A faint flavor of cinnamon and what he assumed was the oats; without the milk and cream to sweeten it, it would have been pretty bland, actually. But it was warm, and filling. A good staple food (although _still_ not as good as hot dogs). “That wasn’t bad,” he told her when he finished. “Thanks for the grub.”

   “Sure.” She cleared the dishes, carrying them to the sink. He helped by putting the food back in the fridge, snatching a root beer with his tail before closing the door. He felt Alley’s gaze on him, and found her watching his actions with a look of fascination. He set the root beer on the counter, then used his tail to turn on the faucet and grab the bottle of dish soap to squeeze some into the filling sink. Her eyes followed his every move.

   “Your tail is prehensile?” she asked after a moment.

   “You sound surprised.”

   “Well, uh, I guess because earth rodents don’t have prehensile tails.”

   “Well, I’m a _bit_ different from an earth rodent,” he sniffed.

   “Oh. I didn’t mean--” She bit her lip and turned to the sink to begin washing out the bowls. He waited; he could feel her curiosity tickling along his senses. Now that the fear was fading, it was inevitably kicking in. “So, uh, can you do anything with that tail, or are you limited with its mobility?” she asked after a moment. “I mean, is it very strong?”

   “Strong enough to lift a fully-grown mouse. Or a human,” he replied. Although he wouldn’t have chosen to use _himself_ as a topic, at least she was starting to open up and talk. “Think of it as a third arm, or something. Losing a tail impacts a mouse as much as losing an arm or leg would impact a human.”

   She nodded, stacking the dishes in the drainer beside the sink. “And it doesn’t hurt to lift something that heavy? I mean, your tail is attached directly to your spine, right? It doesn’t put excess strain on your back or anything?”

   “We develop very strong muscles from a very young age. Our backs are well-padded, don't worry.” Throttle was surprised by Alley’s blunt questioning. Charley had never asked them such things, in all the years she'd known them. Perhaps she felt such questions were too personal. _He_ rather felt they were too personal, but he supposed he could put up with it. At least she was no longer screaming, or crying, or attempting to throw blunt objects at his head.

   “Hey, guys. Anyone here?” Charley’s voice drifted from the direction of the living room, making them both jump in surprise.

   Throttle felt a rush of relief at her appearance. It was about time! “In here,” he called, and a moment later she appeared in the doorway. She took everything in with a raised eyebrow, then tossed him a catty grin. “Well, isn't _this_ the cozy little domestic scene. Getting along, are we?”

   He was glad for his thick fur at times like these, when it felt like his whole head might erupt in flame. “Sure. Piece of cake.” He shrugged, attempting to affect casual aloofness. “She fed me and everything.”

   “There’s still some oatmeal left in the fridge if you want any,” Alley put in. “I can make more tomorrow. I bought fresh ingredients yesterday.”

   Charley straightened, looking back and forth between Alley and a highly-embarrassed mouse. “Wait. You fed Throttle,” she repeated.

   Alley blinked at her. “Uh-huh.”

   “You fed him _oatmeal_.”

   Throttle scowled at her; she ignored him.

   “Yeeeees,” Alley replied slowly, looking confused. “And half a glass of milk.”

   Charley slumped against the counter, one hand dramatically clutching her heart. “I don’t believe it. I’ve spent _years_ trying to get these macho mice to eat anything resembling health food, and you somehow manage it within the first half hour of meeting them!” She reached across the counter and clutched a very confused Alley’s hands in hers. “Please. I _must_ know your secret!”

   Throttle growled, trying to sound annoyed despite the grin that kept twitching at his mouth. He whipped his tail around to give Charley a playful smack on the rear, making her yelp and laugh. “Don’t go getting any ideas, now. I was just being polite!”

 


	4. Four

   Alley watched Charley and Throttle banter back and forth, feeling as if she'd somehow stumbled into an episode of the Twilight Zone. She just couldn't get past how … well, how _alien_ Throttle was, yet her cousin was laughing and teasing and treating him just like she'd treat any longtime friend or family member. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

   She considered making a strategic retreat to her bedroom while the pair was distracted, until Throttle suddenly perked up, his head cocking to one side as his ears twitched back and forth. Alley bit her lip to hold in a smile; he reminded her of Mercedes when something had caught her attention. “Whoops,” he announced a moment later. “Party's over, ladies. Looks like the bros are back.”

   He'd barely finished speaking before the distinct rumble of motorcycles pulling into the garage—heralded by the clang of the welcome bell—announced their arrival. Alley glanced longingly in the direction of her room, but Charley (the traitor) grabbed her by the arm and steered her back into the living room, forcing her into the very same chair Throttle had been sitting in. Alley's skin crawled, imagining she could feel the prickle of shed fur against her back and legs.

   “Maybe you could go warn them to come up slow and steady and not like a herd of elephants, huh?” Charley suggested. Throttle saluted playfully and took the stairs two at a time down to the garage.

   She turned back to her cousin and offered an encouraging smile. “Come on, Alley Cat. Relax! Throttle isn't so bad, is he?”

   The jury was still out on that one, but Alley had to admit she'd been getting used to the golden mouse. There was something pleasant about his voice. It was kind of soft and husky, like smoke and velvet in her ears. And his demeanor had been calm and relaxed. He’d treated her gently, even though she could tell he’d been a bit irritated by her reaction. “I guess not,” she sighed. “He’s pretty … nice.” She frowned, remembering. “But, that big gray one…”

   “Modo? Oh, don’t let his size fool you. He’s a pussycat!”

   Alley barked a laugh. “Oh, sure. A pussycat. The big, angry, _man-eating_ kind.”

   Charley pulled a face at her. “Don't be ridiculous. Look, there's a lot of bad blood between the Martian mice and rats, and mistaking one for the other is sort of an insult on their planet, but Modo feels bad for scaring you. Give him a chance, okay? He’s a sweetheart when you get to know him. A real gentleman. And he _really_ loves his mama. You can't go wrong with a guy who loves his mama, right?”

   “I dunno. Norman Bates really loved _his_ mama.”

   “Alley Davidson!” Charley choked on a laugh. “Stop it! I'm trying to be serious, here!”

   Alley huffed and relented. “Well, what about the little white one?”

   “Vinnie?” Charley chuckled uneasily, shaking her head. “Hmm. What can I say about Vincent Van Wham?”

   “Anything you like, Sweetheart! My stunning good looks? My sparkling personality? Pick a subject!” A grinning white-and-silver face appeared like magic over the back of Alley's chair, causing Alley to squawk and fling herself out of it. She landed on the floor with a thud, flipping over and crab-walking straight into Charley's legs.

   Charley slapped a hand to her forehead. “ _Oh_ , for the—Vinnie! Could you _try_ not to give my cousin a nervous breakdown?” she snapped, shooting him a black look amid sniggers from his bros.

   He grinned sheepishly, easing around to take Alley's place in the chair. “Sorry, Sweetheart.”

   “Does he always call you Sweetheart?” Alley whispered.

   Charley patted her shoulder. “He calls _everyone_ Sweetheart. It's kind of his thing.” She rolled her eyes. “You'll get used to it.”

   Modo approached slowly, and Alley eyed him as he towered over her, giving her a polite nod. She nodded back and fought the urge to scramble under the couch. Mostly because there was no way she would fit.

   “Just wanted to say, I’m awful sorry for scarin’ you like I did,” he rumbled. “Me an' rats don't get along so well, but it wasn't right, losin' my temper. My gray-furred mama always said the first impression's the lastin' one, an' I guess I didn't make such a great one on you. I'd like to set that straight, if I can.”

   Alley nodded absently, but she was hardly listening; her eyes had locked on the giant's right arm. It wasn't a flesh-and-blood limb. It looked like one of those bionic arms that she'd only ever seen in science fiction movies. _Good grief, this isn't the Twilight Zone. It's turned into Star Trek,_ she thought, biting back the hysterical urge to giggle. “D-did a rat do _that_ to you?” she asked instead … and jumped when Charley smacked her across the head.

   Oh. That _had_ come out a little rude, hadn't it?

   Modo glanced at his arm self-consciously. “Nah,” he said, his voice calm. “Ol’ Karbunkle’s the one responsible for this.”

   She frowned. Now why did that name sound familiar? She thought for a bit, before remembering. “Oh, he’s that freaky scientist guy,” she murmured. “The one who looks like a mutant."

   Charley gave her a surprised glance. “You’ve seen him?”

   “Oh, yeah.” Alley gestured to her head. “Throttle did that … mind-meld trick to show me what was going on. The same thing he did to you when you first met.”

   There was dead silence. Vinnie and Modo pinned a squirming Throttle with probing stares. “It’s easier than tryin’ to talk my way through everything,” the golden mouse protested to their raised eyebrows. “There was a lot to cover, all right?”

   “Hey, not judging, Sweetheart!” Vinnie held up his hands, his mouth twitching. “Just better hope Carbine doesn’t find out.”

   “She won’t find out. It wasn’t like that, anyhow!”

   Alley glanced at Charley, who looked as confused as she felt. “Am I missing something?” she whispered.

   Modo glanced at them. “Well, directly touchin' minds is sorta intimate,” he explained, tapping his temple. “It’s useful if we’re in a bad situation and need to exchange intel without gettin’ caught, but for a male and female to join minds in a casual setting, it's kinda…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and taking a sudden fascination with the ceiling as he nervously scratched under his chin.

   Luckily, Vinnie was there to take over. “That sorta stuff is usually reserved for the bedroom,” he finished, grinning and waggling his eyebrows comically. “It’s a fantastic way to increase the intimacy between mates during—”

   “ _Vincent._ ” Throttle, who was looking increasingly mortified, cut the white mouse off with a smack of his tail.

   Alley glanced up at her cousin, still confused. Charley's face had turned pink, but her eyes were dancing with mischief as she turned around on the couch, resting her chin on her crossed arms and pinning the squirming mouse with a playful stare. “Throttle, you _hound_ ,” she teased, her voice filled with laughter. “Puttin’ the moves on us like that, and we never even suspected. I never knew you had it in you!”

   Alley promptly choked as the meaning hit home, turning an accusing, slightly-horrified gaze to the golden mouse. “You were putting _moves_ on me?” she squeaked.

   “ _No!_ ” he yelled as the rest of them cracked up. “It wasn’t _like_ that!” He groaned, wiping a hand over his face, under his field specs. “You guys are never gonna forget this, are you?”

   “Hell, no, lover boy!” Charley blew him a playful kiss, which earned him a jealous glare from Vinnie and more laughter from Modo.

   Alley abruptly decided that enough was enough, and scrambled to her feet. “I, um, I've gotta go … do … something,” she muttered, and beat a hasty retreat to her room before anyone could stop her. She slammed the door and slumped against it, sliding to the floor with a thump. Mercedes's snout appeared from the nest of wood shavings and shredded paper towels she'd burrowed into, whiskers twitching curiously. Alley crawled over to the cage and poked a finger through the bars to tickle the rat's nose. “Good grief, Mercy,” she sighed. “What the hell did I get myself into?”

* * *

   Alley hid in her room for an hour, paging through the picture scrapbooks she'd brought with her from home. She missed home. She missed her parents. She missed her friends. She even missed Chaz. She wished she had a phone so she could call Chaz, just to hear his voice. Then again, lately he didn't have much to say to her; he was still pissed that she'd broken up with him two weeks before leaving for Chicago.

   She turned the album to a page filled with photos of herself and her friends; lounging on the beach; at a pool party in Yuri's back yard; her and Chaz cuddling under a blanket beside a bonfire…

   She examined the closeup of her ex-boyfriend giving the camera a deadpan stare and a thumbs up, and wrinkled her nose. Well, maybe “pissed” was too strong a word. Chaz didn't get pissed. Mildly annoyed, maybe, when he could be bothered to care. That was the problem with Chaz. He was tall, handsome, well-mannered…

   He also had the personality of tile grout.

   “Ugh,” she grunted, slapped the album shut and shoved it into a corner of the room. She decided maybe she didn't miss him so much, after all. “I can’t believe I wasted an entire year on that walking doormat."

   Mercedes twitched her whiskers, climbing the side of her cage.

   “Well, he was really cute!” Alley defended herself. “And he did have nice manners. Also didn’t hurt that his parents are loaded. Too bad he didn’t have a romantic bone in his entire body. I mean, I’m the one who always had to plan the dates! And forget about making out. You’d think I was _diseased_ or something, the way he always shied away from kissing.”

   Mercedes squeaked at her.

   “I know, I know,” she grumbled. “That’s what I get for being shallow and dating a cute rich guy. He was probably gay. I mean, I’m gorgeous, right? What straight guy in his right mind wouldn’t want a piece of _this_?”

   Mercedes replied by crawling into her nest of wood shavings and shredded tissues and curling up to sleep.

   “Gee. Thanks for the heart-to-heart. You always know _just_ what to say.”

   Alley staggered to her feet. Her butt and legs had gone numb from sitting cross-legged on the floor for so long. She hobbled to the door, opening it a crack to listen outside. There was absolute silence. She peeked out, then crept down the short hallway to the living room. Charley and the mice were gone. In their place stood a pile of wooden parts that she recognized as the pieces of her furniture. They must have gone ahead and taken the bed and dresser apart to get them up from the garage. Alley felt momentarily guilty, knowing she should've helped. It _was_ her furniture, after all.

   She crept down the stairs far enough to peek into the brightly-lit garage, where she noticed her bus had been parked in an unused corner. And there was Charley, surrounded by a pile of car parts, working on fastening a door onto the frame of a car. “Are they gone?” she called.

   Her cousin stopped working, lifted the welding mask from her face, and turned to give her cousin a hard stare. “For now,” she replied. “They're coming back later, though. I promised them dinner and movies for their help.” She folded her arms across her chest, radiating disapproval.

   Alley suddenly felt as if she'd been caught by her mother sneaking in late after a party or something. “Okay, what?” she asked, mirroring Charley's stance.

   “I don't appreciate the way you treated my friends,” the redhead scolded. “They did their best to welcome you in their own way. They don't interact with a lot of humans, you know. It's not like there's proper etiquette for introducing two alien species to each other. Yeah, they're a bit startling at first, but I think you totally overreacted. The Alley _I_ remember was never such a shrinking violet.”

   “I—But you—And they—Well, what about _you_?” Alley sputtered, switching from shamefaced to defensive in two seconds. “Maybe I wouldn't have 'overreacted' if _you_ hadn't waited until _thirty seconds beforehand_ to tell me I was about to meet _giant talking alien mice_!”

   Charley blinked, then cracked a small smile. “You make a good point,” she conceded.

   “Damn _straight_ , I do.” Alley's own lips were twitching despite the scowl she was trying hard to keep in place. “I warned you _I_ was bringing a pet. The least you could've done was return the favor!”

   Charley choked out a laugh. “Alley, that’s mean! They're _not_ animals, no matter what they look like. They're as much people as we are! They just happen to possess tails and fur coats and hail from a different planet.”

   “I know that.” Alley sighed, hopping up to sit on Charley's tool chest.

   “Will you promise to at least _try_ and get to know them. I mean, if it wasn't for them, most of this planet would've been strip-mined and shipped off to Plutark by now. They're really heroes, if you stop to think about it. They deserve a little respect.”

   “Okay, okay. I promise I'll give them another chance, and I won't even run screaming for the hills this time.” At Charley's dubious look, she added, “Scout's honor!” and held up four fingers.

   “That's the Vulcan peace sign, Alley.”

   “Pfft. Whatever.”

   Charley sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I'm so glad we had this little chat.”

   The colorful blond laughed and patted her on the shoulder. “Anytime, Charley-girl! What else is family for?”

 


	5. Five

   Charley wasn't sure what she'd find when she and the guys headed up after the garage closed for business. She half-expected Alley to have sequestered herself in her bedroom again, and was therefore surprised to find her sitting in the middle of the living room floor, busily assembling the pieces of her dresser. She was so focused on her task that she didn't seem to realize she had company.

   "Heeey, somethin' smells _good_ up here," Vinnie said from behind Charley, snuffling the air hungrily.

   Alley jumped, dropping the screwdriver she was holding. "Oh. Hi, guys," she said, glancing at the clock. "Um, give it a few more minutes. Dinner should be ready soon."

   "You cooked?" Charley asked in surprise.

   "Eh, think of it as a peace offering." The blonde flashed the mice a tentative smile.

   Modo made his way over. "You don't need to do that," he rumbled, taking in the scattered furniture pieces surrounding her. "Me 'n the bros could've put 'em back together for you."

   "Nah, that's okay." Alley ducked her head and offered a shrug. "You were nice enough to cart them up here, the least I could do was reassemble them. I'll probably need help with the bed, though. It's a little too big for just one person to handle."

   "Great!" Charley cut in. "How about you guys take care of that while I go wash off my work?" She grinned impishly at Alley and disappeared down the hall before her cousin could protest.

   And Alley suddenly found herself alone in the room with three very large, very intimidating, heavily-armed alien mice.

   Sensing her unease, Throttle stepped forward. "Modo, grab the headboard and hold it steady. Vinnie, pick up that frame piece and hold it while I screw the brackets back in place," he ordered in his best commander voice, and they snapped to obey. "Mind handing me those tools?" he asked, pointing, and Alley leaned over to grab the hex wrench set, tossing it to him. He caught it and got to work, and the next five minutes were filled with silence as the mice worked to reassemble the bed frame.

   "So, um, the mattresses are still in the garage?" Alley asked after a while.

   "Yep. Too big to get through the doorway. We'll have to cart 'em up the fire escape," Throttle replied.

   Alley nodded. "Thought as much." She hesitated, then added, "Thanks. For, you know, going to all this trouble for me. Especially after the way I, uh, acted."

   "No problem, Sweetheart! Anything for a pretty lady," Vinnie replied, flashing her a wink.

   Alley wasn't sure how to respond, but a ding sounded from the oven just then, saving the need. "And that'll be supper!" She scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands off on the back of her shorts as she escaped to the kitchen. Vinnie watched her go, gawking at her backside with open appreciation until Modo smacked him across the back of the head with his metal hand.

   "Ow! Damn it, Modo, yer gonna give me brain damage!" Vinnie complained, rubbing his skull.

   "A little late for that," Throttle snorted as Modo sniggered.

   "A little late for what?" Charley entered the room, still toweling off her damp hair as she eyed them curiously.

   "Nothin'!" Vinnie jumped to his feet, approaching her with a smirk. "Want a little help with that?"

   He reached for the towel, but she rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his hand away. "I can manage, thanks."

   "Come and get it," Alley called, and they all made a beeline for the kitchen. Where they promptly stopped and stared, not sure what they were looking at. "Uh, what the hell is that?" Vinnie asked. "Where're the dogs?" He ducked when Modo took another swipe at his head. Only to run into Throttle's tail as it whipped around to smack him on the nose.

   "Don't be rude," the golden mouse scolded. "Those _are_ dogs."

   Vinnie grumbled a short apology as he moved back to a safer distance.

   Alley glanced down at the platter of food on the table, uncertain. "Well, uh, I tried something a little different. I just wrapped the hotdogs in crescent roll dough and baked them. They're good that way. Crescent rolls taste better than plain hotdog buns."

   "They smell pretty good." Modo stepped forward to pick up a steaming roll, gulping it in two bites. His single eye widened. "Whoa, mama. They taste pretty good, too!" And he grabbed a second helping.

   That was all the encouragement needed; the mice descended on the platter like a pack of jackals while Alley hastily backed away to give them space. She stood beside Charley, leaning against the counter. "Think there'll be any left for us?" she asked, amused.

   Charley laughed. "We'll be lucky. I hope you made enough. Those three have black holes where their stomachs are supposed to be."

   "Ah. Is that to make up for lack of good table manners?"

   "We _can_ hear you, you know." Throttle fixed them with a dry look over his specs.

   Charley blew him a playful kiss. "That's the idea, Sweetheart," she teased. To Alley, she asked, "Think we can jump in there without risking a finger?"

   Her cousin giggled. "There's a second batch in the oven. I wouldn't chance it. Those teeth look sharp!"

   Throttle huffed at her and turned his back, making Charley laugh again.

   "Save some room for dessert. I bought a cheesecake," Alley told them.

   "No cheese!" came an immediate trio of protest.

   Alley blinked in surprise.

   "They _really_ don't like cheese," Charley explained with a chuckle.

   "Oh. Well, cheese _cake_ isn't really the same thi—"

   "No cheese!"

   She snorted. "Stubborn much?"

   Charley slung an arm around her shoulder. "That's okay. They don't understand what they're missing. Just means more for us, anyway."

   "That is an _excellent_ point."

   "Oh, I see an opening! Wish me luck; I'm goin' in!"

   "Mind your fingers!"

* * *

   "I dunno about this."

   The cousins leaned out of Alley's open window, staring down at the street where the three mice stood, propping up a set of plastic-wrapped mattresses and arguing over the best way to get them up the fire escape to the second floor. "You sure they can handle this?" Alley sounded more than a little doubtful.

   "Aw, it's sweet of you to worry about their safety," Charley teased.

   She snorted. "Who said anything about _their_ safety? I'm more worried about the apartment falling down around our ears. I mean, look what happened when they tried to get the bed frame in here!" They glanced at the bedroom door, which was now sagging on its hinges, with a good-sized chunk missing out of its frame and several dents in the opposite wall.

   Charley winced despite herself. "Well, wouldn't be the first time they've put holes in my walls," she muttered. "The building hasn't fallen down yet."

   "Oh. Thank you. I feel _so_ much more reassured."

   "Heads up, ladies!" Throttle's call was the only warning they had before the trio sprang into action. Quick as a wink, the golden mouse scrambled up the rickety fire escape and landed nimbly on the metal platform outside the window. He greeted Alley's startled expression with a smirk, before waving to Vinnie, who'd followed him halfway up and now hung precariously from the ladder, using his tail to anchor him. The white mouse gave a short whistle in response; from the ground, Modo hefted the long, heavy mattress over his head as though it weighed no more than a sheet of paper. Vinnie grabbed at it, fumbled slightly before getting a firm grip, and hoisted it to the second level, where Throttle waited to catch and heft it over the side of the railing and onto the platform. The girls scrambled back as he shoved it through the window, just in time to catch the boxspring that Vinnie had hoisted at him.

   All of this was accomplished in a matter of moments, leaving Alley gaping in wonder. "Whoa," she breathed.

   "Told ya." Charley nudged her playfully, but even she looked impressed.

   "You guys are like acrobats or something. You should join a circus if you ever decide to switch careers," Alley teased. Throttle looked pleased by the flattery as he maneuvered the boxspring into the bedroom.

   Charley sniggered. "Except they'd probably manage to blow up the circus."

   "Har dee har," Throttle sniffed as he stripped the mattresses of their plastic wrap and helped the women position them on the waiting frame. "There, mission accomplished. Now let's go watch some James Bomb!"

* * *

   "You bored or somethin'?" Vinnie asked when he caught Alley attempting to stifle a yawn for the umpteenth time.

   She flashed him a weak smile. "Sorry. Guess spy movies aren't really my thing." She'd figured _that_ out fifteen minutes into the first James Bomb film, having never watched one before. But she didn't want to be rude by asking them to change it. Movie night seemed to be a well-established tradition around there. Now that they were well into the third film, however, she was having more than a little difficulty keeping her eyes open. Of course, it didn't help that it was nearly two o'clock in the morning, and she'd had a very long and rather strange day.

   "Go to bed, Alley Cat, before you fall off the chair," Charley scolded teasingly from her spot on the couch, with her legs draped over Modo's lap and head resting comfortably on Vinnie's thigh. Neither mouse seemed to mind being used as a cushion; Vinnie's fingers ran idly through Charley's mussed hair, absentmindedly caressing over her cheek and jaw, down to her throat and back into her hair, and she didn't seem to mind that, either. In fact, she looked as if she was about to start purring up a storm. The scene was strangely intimate, and Alley tried her best to ignore a niggling little suspicion that had developed in the back of her mind. She certainly wasn't ready to cope with ideas like _that_.

   "Really, nobody will be offended," Charley continued, lazily shooing her cousin off.

   Alley yawned again, not bothering to hide it this time. "Guess I probably should. I've got to go to the university today."

   Charley looked surprised. "Are your classes starting already?"

   "Nah. Next week. But I've still got a couple of forms to fill out, and I want to get a lay of the land, so to speak. I hear the campus is huge. There are _two_ of them, and I've got classes in both. It'll be easier to get to them on time if I actually know where they're located to begin with." She stood and stretched, working the kinks out of her muscles, before turning to Throttle, who had commandeered a kitchen chair for the evening and had turned it around to rest his forearms and chin on the back of it. "Sorry, I took over the armchair. You're welcome to it now," she said. "And thanks for all your help in getting me moved in. I appreciate it. It was … nice to meet you all."

   Throttle chuckled huskily. "Once all the screaming and hysterics calmed down, it was nice to meet you, too," he teased.

   Alley pulled a face at him, choosing not to dignify that remark with a reply.

 


	6. Six

   Alley was rudely awakened by a loud crash. She glanced blearily at the alarm clock on the floor, noted it was only six in the morning, and briefly considered stuffing a pillow over her head and going back to sleep. Until a second crash startled her into nearly falling out of the bed. Grumbling, she crawled to her feet and stumbled her way to her broken door, shoving the box of books propping it closed out of the way.

   "Charley, what's go--" Her words and feet both stumbled to a halt in front of the kitchen; she gaped at the sight of a large white body kneeling on the floor, mopping up a puddle of steaming coffee. She blinked, then blinked again. "Vinnie?"

   "Mind your feet," Throttle said from behind her, making her jump. "Vinnie dropped the coffee pot."

   "Twice," Modo put in with a chuckle.

   "Aw, shaddup," Vinnie looked up to defend himself, but only managed a choked "Guh?" when he caught sight of Alley. His jaw remained open, dark pink eyes so wide that Alley wondered how they didn't fall right out of his head. She frowned at him, glanced over her shoulder to see Modo on the couch, facing the other direction with one hand covering his good eye. Throttle coughed into his fist and politely turned his gaze away, looking decidedly embarrassed.

   She glanced down at herself, and her sleeping attire of tiny shorts and barely-there camisole. "Oh, for—It's not like I knew you three were still here! It's hot as hell in that room," she snapped.

   "It sure is," Vinnie breathed, still ogling.

   From behind her, Throttle slapped a hand over his eyes and shook his head with an exasperated sigh.

   Alley's jaw dropped as an indignant squeak escaped her mouth, her cheeks flushing dull pink. She fixed him with a haughty glare before turning on her heel and marching to her room … only to run headlong into a large body coming through the door from the stairs, stumbling into a furry chest as two hands came up to catch her by the arms and steady her. “Well, hello there,” the stranger chuckled softly, regarding her through amused, red-brown eyes.

   She squeaked again and backpedaled, bumping the wall behind her. She gaped at the mouse in shock, taking in sandy brown fur and a mane of dark brown hair tied into a long tail. A green vest over a dingy gray T-shirt, tan cargo pants and army boots. A pair of holsters strapped to his thighs held wicked-looking guns. “Oh, good grief there are _more_ of you? Where did you _come_ from? And how the hell did you get into the garage? The security’s on!”

   “Pfft. You call that security?” the mouse scoffed. At her alarmed expression, he held up his hands placatingly. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m a friend.”

   “Stoker!” Throttle stepped forward, gently pulling Alley out of the way as he clasped arms with his leader. “What’re you doin’ here? Did we miss your communication?”

   “Nah,” the tan mouse chuckled. “Didn’t tell anyone I was coming. Thought I’d surprise you.” He glanced at Alley with a raised brow. “Looks like it worked. I don’t think we’ve met.”

   “Ah, this is Charley’s cousin, Alley,” Throttle explained. “Alley, General Stoker. He leads the Freedom Fighters on Mars. Which is where he’s supposed to be right now.” He cast the other mouse a questioning look. “Dissention in the ranks, Coach? They finally kick you out, eh?”

   “Nope.” Stoker rubbed his chin. “Guess you could say, there’s been a recent shift in power. Doubt you punks’ve heard, but I stepped down.”

   “What? Stoke, no!” Vinnie protested, appearing from the kitchen. His ears were drooping. “You can’t step down! Yer our leader! Who’s gonna keep the Fighters rallied with you gone?”

   “Don’t make a fuss.” Stoker waved him off, chuckling. “I ain’t as young as I used to be. I’ll leave the heavy artillery to you punks. ‘Sides, I’ve got some personal projects I need to focus on. Can’t do that babysittin’ a bunch of mudpuppies like you!”

   “Then who’s takin’ over?”

   “Don’t worry. I left ‘em in good hands. _General_ Carbine is leadin’ the Freedom Fighters now.”

   That seemed to surprise the mice even more. “So she made general, eh?” Throttle murmured. His voice held a soft, wistful note. “Always thought she might. How’s she holdin’ up? She has some pretty big shoes to fill.”

   Stoker snorted. “Completely terrorizin’ the lot of ‘em, and enjoyin’ every minute. My niece is a tough nut to crack. But then, you already know that, eh, punk?”

   Throttle chuckled. “She got a message for me?”

   “As a matter of fact…” Stoker pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket and handed it to him with a wink. “Might wanna wait ‘til you’re alone to read it, yeah?”

   Throttle cleared his throat as he pocketed the letter, amid snickers and kissy-face noises from both Vinnie and Modo. Alley’s brow furrowed as she watched, wondering at his pleased embarrassment, and then it clicked. “Oh, is Carbine … your wife?” she asked.

   Her question was immediately met with uproarious laughter from the peanut gallery. Throttle’s glasses slid down his nose as he sputtered. “No, no, nothing like that!” he yelped, but a guffawing Modo threw a heavy arm around his shoulders.

   “She might as well be, though! Them two’ve been attached at the hip long as I’ve known ‘em!” he chortled.

  “Yeah, yeah!” Vinnie howled. “Ya might as well call ‘im Mr. Carbine!”

   Throttle growled in exasperation as he tried to wrestle himself out of Modo’s headlock. Alley wisely backed further down the hall before she ended up with an elbow in the face, nearly running into Charley as she came out of her room. “What’s all the racket?” The redhead yawned as she shrugged a ratty flannel robe on over her T-shirt and cut-off sweatpants.

   “You have company.” Alley jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

   “Hey, Beautiful!” Stoker called cheerfully, now holding both Throttle and Modo in a headlock under each arm.

   “Stoker!” Charley’s face lit up. “I didn’t know you were in town!”

   “Just arrived.”

   “Like some breakfast?”

   “You bet!”

   Charley turned to her cousin. “Hey, Alley, think you could whip up-” She stopped, taking notice of the blonde’s appearance for the first time. "Don't tell me you went out there dressed like _that_ ," she groaned, running a hand over her face.

   “Hey, it’s not like I _knew_ we were having aliens over for breakfast,” Alley snapped.

   “It was late so I figured there was no point in sending them home. They just crashed in the living room. That happens a lot, just for future reference, so you might wanna watch how you dress around here."

   “No shit!”

   “Mouth, Alley.”

   “Yes, Mommy.”

   “Ah, don’t be too hard on her,” Stoker cut in. He gave Alley a teasing wink. “No need to gussy up on my account, honey. I like what you’re wearin’ just fine.”

   Alley huffed and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

   Stoker raised a brow. “Somethin’ I said?”

   “She only just met you hairy lummoxes, and she’s still gettin’ used to the idea of talking mice, so lay off the flirting, huh? Before ya scare her all the way back to Florida.” Charley gave his ear an exasperated tug as she passed. “Nice to see you, Stoke. Whatever you did to my security system to get in here, _fix_ it. Vinnie! If you made another mess in my kitchen, you’d _better_ be cleaning it up."

   “Why you always gotta blame me first?”

   “Because it’s usually your fault!”

* * *

   Alley took her time getting ready, trying to delay leaving her sanctuary for as long as possible. At least until Charley's pained yelp caught her attention. She dropped her brush onto the dresser and scurried to the kitchen, where she found her cousin standing on one foot, using Stoker’s shoulder for support as she examined the bottom of the other; a long, curved shard of glass jutted from her heel.

   “Eh, whoops. Guess I missed a spot,” Vinnie muttered, scratching his head as he surveyed the kitchen floor.

   "Damn it, Vinnie," Charley snarled, "I know you mean well, but for the love of Pete _stay out of my kitchen_!"

   Alley's jaw dropped when, without a word, Vinnie grabbed a dish towel, swept Charley into his arms, and carried her into the living room. She wasn’t the only surprised one; the other three mice glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, amused smiles twitching at their mouths.

   Vinnie didn’t seem to notice the scrutiny; he deposited Charley’s startled form onto the couch and sat beside her, lifting her foot to calmly examine the wound. “You’re fine,” he snorted. “Ain’t gonna have to cut off your foot or anything. I’m gonna pull the glass out, okay?”

   “If you get blood on my furniture, I’ll kick your ass,” Charley grumbled, looking decidedly embarrassed by the attention.

   “Promises, promises.”

   Alley frowned when Vinnie winked, and her cousin actually _blushed_ in response. Now _that_ was an odd reaction…

   She jumped when a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder; Stoker smiled down at her, his dark eyes studying her face. “Got any medical supplies around here, honey?” he asked.

   Alley looked over at Charley. “Do we?”

   “Under the bathroom sink,” Charley grunted, grimacing as Vinnie probed around the wound, trying to assess the damage.

   “Don’t be such a baby,” Vinnie teased, earning a light swat between the ears. He blotted the welling blood with the towel before it could drip onto the carpet. “Hold on. Count of three, I’m gonna yank.”

   “One,” Charley counted, gritting her teeth and bracing herself. “Two- _yeowch_! _Vinnie!_ ”

   Grinning, he held up the bloody glass, pressing the towel to her bleeding heel. “There now. That wasn’t so bad. Want a lollipop for being such a good patient?”

   Charley glared at him, but her scowl slowly melted into a small grin as she delivered him another light swat, followed up by a teasing caress around the rim of his large ear. Now _Vinnie_ was the one blushing. Alley could see it under his pale fur, and her jaw dropped as she took in the scene. She didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. Her cousin and a giant hairy alien were actually _flirting_?

   “Save it for later, kiddies. We’re not done yet.” Stoker intercepted a large first aid kit from Modo, who’d gone to retrieve it from the bathroom. He knelt beside the couch to give Charley’s foot a cursory lookover. “Seems okay, but this is probably gonna need a few stitches.”

   “There’re sterilized needles and thread in the kit,” Charley supplied.

   “Well prepared, I see.”

   “With these three lunkheads always comin’ in all banged up, gotta be ready for anything.”

   Stoker chuckled and ripped open the plastic-covered suture needle.

   “Wait a minute!” Alley hurried forward, alarmed. “Shouldn’t we take her to a hospital or something?”

   “What for?” Vinnie asked, surprised.

   “Well … because … because none of you are doctors! How do you even know what you’re doing? You could just make things worse!”

   “No need to worry, honey,” Stoker assured her. “We’ve all had experience in field medicine. If you get shot in the middle of a fight, there’s hardly time to drop what you’re doing and visit a facility, and there isn’t always a field medic on hand. On-site patch jobs are the only options available if you don’t wanna bleed to death.”

   “Yeah, and if we can stitch an open wound in the middle of a battlefield, this ain’t _nothin’_ in comparison,” Vinnie added.

   “But this isn’t a battlefield,” Alley argued. “It’d be safer to just let me drive her to a doctor.”

   “Alley, it’s okay,” Charley cut in, smiling up at her. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to be patched up, especially after a skirmish with the Plutarkians. The guys know what they’re doing. I trust their abilities, okay?”

   Alley wanted to protest some more, but she was clearly outnumbered. “Fine,” she huffed. “But when your leg rots and falls off from some infection, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” She turned to march to her room.

   “Where ya goin’?” Vinnie called after her.

   “I’m going to feed my rat!”

   There was a startled silence. Stoker glanced at Charley with raised eyebrows. “She has a rat?”

* * *

   Alley sat on the floor with her back against the bed, legs drawn up. Mercedes sat on her knee, nibbling pellets from the pile cupped in her open hand. A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “What?” she called, glancing behind her and scowling as Stoker’s shaggy head poked around the corner. “For future reference, ‘what’ does _not_ mean ‘come in’,” she added archly.

   He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

   Her mouth twisted at his refusal to take a hint. “You done butchering my cousin’s foot now?”

   “Nope. Vinnie insisted on doin’ the butchering.”

   “And you’re here because…?”

   “Oh, I just wanted to get a look at this pet of yours.”

   Her eyes widened as she scooped Mercedes off her knee and deposited her back in the cage, standing in front of it protectively. “You stay away from my rat!” she snapped.

   “Relax, honey.” Stoker held up his hands placatingly. “I’m not planning to hurt your pet.” He approached slowly. “May I?”

   She hesitated, then stepped slowly aside, watching as he knelt in front of the cage to examine the little animal racing frantically around inside it. “She’s kinda cute. For a rat,” he teased.

   “You’re scaring her,” Alley accused.

   “Nah, I think she’d rather take a bite outta me.” Stoker poked a finger through the wire, then yanked it back when Mercedes lunged for it. “Yep. Definitely a rat,” he snorted. “Gotta say, there’s something immensely satisfying about seein’ one behind bars.”

   She glowered. “Rats tend to be highly territorial, especially toward other rodents. Guess it doesn’t matter what planet they’re from; they find a mouse invading their turf, they kill it.”

   He slanted her an amused glance. “You realize you're not winnin’ your friend here any brownie points.”

   An unexpected smile twitched Alley’s lips, and she pressed them together as much to hide it as to stifle the giggle that also tried to slip past. His expression softened. “Come on out and join us, honey. Throttle’s whippin’ us up some breakfast.”

   She blinked. “Throttle can cook?”

   “He’s a mouse of many talents.” As if to herald his words, the loud, metallic clatter of falling cookware crashed through the silence.

   Alley raised an eyebrow.

   “And cooking isn’t one of them,” he finished on a laugh.

   “Alley Cat!” Charley bellowed. “Can you _please_ come out here and get these lunkheads out of my kitchen?”

   “Alright, I’m comin’!” she yelled back. “Don’t get yer panties in a twist!” She turned to shoo Stoker out of her room, only to find him sprawled across the bed, arms crossed comfortably behind his head. He grinned unashamedly at her. “Cushy setup you’ve got here.”

   She sighed heavily, rubbing the spot between her eyes, where a headache was steadily forming. “Do you _mind_? I’d rather not have hair all over my sheets, if it’s all the same to you.”

   He smirked and sat up, then reached out to pluck a long, golden hair off her pillow, holding it up.

   “Let me rephrase: I’d rather not have _your_ hair all over my sheets. Especially since it doesn’t look like you’ve washed it for awhile.”

   “Ouch.” He stood with a grin, not offended in the least. “You don’t pull your punches, do you, princess?”

   “What, you’re not man enough to handle a few hits?” Alley turned to stalk out of the room.

   He followed, chuckling low in his throat, expression mischievous. “Honey, I’m probably more male than you’ve ever handled before."

   She froze mid-step, sputtering. Searched for a comeback, but his brazen flirting had effectively knocked it clean out of her. "And I thought Vinnie was obnoxious," she muttered.

   Stoker scoffed. "I taught that pup everything he knows!"

   She leveled a narrow-eyed glare at him. "You realize you're not winning _yourself_ any brownie points, right?"

   Stoker laughed heartily. "Give it time, honey. You’ll come around."

   She turned to face him, eyes narrowed, hands fisted on her hips. “You know,” she began amiably, “I deal with self-obsessed assholes on a regular basis. Comes with being a woman, I suppose. I shouldn’t be _too_ hard on them, though. Not their fault that when puberty hits, male brains tend to pack it in and take permanent retirement to the southern regions. Same phenomenon must occur in the Martian races, too.”

   Stoker’s eyebrows shot up. From the couch, Charley quickly stifled a bark of laughter.

   “The point is, I’ve heard it all before,” Alley continued. “And let me tell you, the guys who yelp the loudest?” She leaned in and stabbed a finger into Stoker’s chest, smirking up into his astonished face. “ _They’re_ usually the ones trying hardest to overcompensate for something.” With a smug flip of her hair, she turned and marched into the kitchen.

   There was a moment of stunned silence. Vinnie and Modo gaped, unable to believe that their hero had just been given the dressing down of a lifetime. Throttle had disappeared; probably off somewhere to read his letter (but they’d definitely be filling him in on this event later). And Charley sat with her knees drawn up, head buried in her arms, shoulders shaking as she tried unsuccessfully to muffle her laughter.

   Stoker stomped to the armchair and flopped into it. “Come up for air before you suffocate yourself,” he snorted.

   She raised her head, face flushed and eyes dancing with laughter, completely unsympathetic. “So there’s actually one female in this universe who hasn’t immediately fallen for your overwhelming charm? Poor baby. You must be losing your touch,” she teased.

   His mouth twitched, a smile trying to escape around his fixed scowl. “Bah. Go easy on an old mouse’s ego, would you?”

   “I would, but I _did_ try to warn you, remember?”

   The scowl melted, his typical good humor and just a touch of admiration taking its place as he watched Alley puttering around in the kitchen. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That you did, Charley-girl.”

 


	7. Seven

   Alley managed to dig up enough ingredients to throw together a decent breakfast, making a mental note to buy extra food the next time she made a grocery run. She had a feeling that taking meals with Charley’s furry house guests was a regular occurrence, but she’d be damned if she ended up living on hot dogs and root beer like the rest of them. Luckily, Vivian Davidson was an amazing cook, and had managed to pass a fair amount of skill on to her daughter. Grocery shopping, cooking regular meals, and cleaning the apartment seemed like a fair exchange for room and board, in Alley’s opinion. She cracked eggs into a bowl and added milk, butter, a touch of salt. However, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets in search of a mixer left her empty-handed.

   “Do you have an electric mixer?” she called to Charley, who was still on the couch nursing her wounded foot. The mice were gathered there with her, watching television. And like before, Charley had made herself cozy, all cuddled up to the white mouse. Alley’s eyes narrowed as she watched them.

   Charley didn’t seem to notice her cousin’s disapproval. “I used to,” she replied. “It ran into an accident a few months ago and I never got a replacement.”

   Alley snorted. “I see. And is ‘accident’ code for ‘giant hairy Martian’, by chance?”

   The mice immediately protested, but Charley just laughed. “You learn fast.”

   Alley sighed. “Right. Old-fashioned way it is.” She grabbed a fork from the drawer and began beating her egg mixture into a frothy whip, pouring the mess into the extra-large fry pan heating on the stove. The beat-up pan hissed and sputtered, and she shook her head. “No offense, Charley, but all of your cookware is in serious need of an upgrade. Where did you get this thing, a toy store?”

   “Nah. I dug it out of a dumpster a few years ago. Perfectly good frying pan!” Charley teased.

   “Okay, that had better be a joke, ‘cause _ew_.” Alley shot her a disgusted glance. “And I am adding ‘cast-iron skillet’ to the Long List of Things Charley Needs to Buy. You will thank me when your cheap-ass cookware doesn’t catch fire and burn down your building.”

   “Hey, I’ve used this stuff for years and the only time anything catches fire is when these lunkheads try and cook for me!”

   “And you keep letting them into your apartment _why_?” Alley asked over more protests.

   Charley laughed. “I dunno. I guess they just kinda grew on me.” She gave the sulking mice a teasing wink.

   “Like mushrooms,” Alley added with a snort, turning back to her eggs that were in danger of burning. “I need the bacon out of the fridge. It’s in the side compartment.” She emptied the finished eggs into a large serving bowl and covered the top with a plate to keep them from cooling.

   A few moments later, a golden hand thrust into her line of sight, clutching a pack of raw bacon. “Smells good,” Throttle commented, sniffing appreciatively.

   “Thanks,” she muttered, a little spooked to have the mouse standing so close behind her; she had the oddest feeling it wasn’t the _eggs_ he’d just been sniffing at, but her suspicious glare didn’t even phase him as he calmly slit open the package and held up a slice of bacon, studying it curiously as if it was a particularly interesting bug. She raised an eyebrow, amused by his scrutiny. “One would almost think you’ve never seen raw meat before.”

   His eyes crinkled behind his shades as he grinned down at her. “Sure I have. It’s usually on the other guy’s face after I get done pummeling it a few times,” he teased.

   “That … is _really_ something to be shared on a need-to-know basis, and I did _not_ need to know.” She shot him a disgusted look, taking the bacon to add it into the pan.

   He chuckled. “Anything else I can do, princess?”

   “How kind of you to offer. You can set the table for me, if you promise not to break the dishes. Or set it on fire.” She offered her sweetest smile, ignoring his deadpan expression, before quickly turning her attention to the bacon when it began crackling in earnest, spitting hot grease into the air.

   The phone rang loudly, and Charley heaved herself off the couch--with the help of a crutch she’d dug out of a closet--and picked up the cordless hanging on the wall. After a few moments, she limped into the kitchen, holding it out by the antenna. "It's for you."

   It took Alley a second to realize it was being offered to _her_ . She blinked. “Who’d be calling _me_?”

   “Oh, I dunno. Maybe that mother you left behind in Florida. You know, the one who has been waiting to hear from you for the past few _days_ now?”

   Alley winced. “Oh. Her.”

   Charley narrowed her eyes. “You _did_ at least call to let her know you arrived safely, _right_?”

   "Ummm…" Alley rummaged until she unearthed a pair of salad tongs, plucking the finished bacon from the pan onto a large plate. “I was … getting around to it…” she hedged.

   "Alley Davidson!" Charley shook her head. "I can't believe you! No wonder she's pissed!"

   "Come on, you can hardly blame me if I've been a little _distracted_." Alley waved the tongs in the general direction of the table, around which the mice had gathered as Throttle finished setting it with mismatched plates. They weren’t even trying to pretend they weren’t listening in, all eyes trained on the women.

   "Talk to her."

   She pulled a face. " _Now?_ "

   "No, next Tuesday. _Yes_ , now."

   "I can't handle being yelled at this early in the morning," Alley grumbled. “Besides, I’m making breakfast.”

   “Breakfast is done. We’ll eat. _You_ talk.” Charley plucked the tongs from Alley’s fingers and replaced them with the handset.

   Alley huffed. " _Fine._ " She marched into the living room and flopped onto the couch, four sets of eyes following her curiously. Took a deep breath and lifted the receiver to her ear. "Hey, Mom. It's me. How’ve you been?" And winced when Vivian Davidson immediately started bawling her out for being such a thoughtless, forgetful, worrisome daughter. Really, the woman could probably crack windows if she set her mind to it; Alley could already feel the headache coming on.

   "I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't—No, everything's—Well, it's been a little hectic for the past—" She paused and rubbed her temple irritably, scowling at her amused audience. She should’ve retreated to her room when she had the chance, but damned if she’d tuck tail and run _now_. "I arrived a bit later than expected, and it was too late to call then," she explained through gritted teeth. "What happened? No, nothing serious. Just a little car trouble on the way." She paused again, rolled her eyes at Charley, and mimed aiming a gun at her own head and pulling the trigger. Several times. Charley grinned back and blew her a kiss. The guys sniggered.

   Alley threw a hand in the air, finally at her wit’s end. "Look, I’m sorry I forgot to call, okay? I'm a horrible, horrible daughter. Cut me some slack! I don’t want to run up Charley’s phone bill and I haven’t had time to look for a new cell phone yet. I mean, between my car breaking down in the middle of nowhere, and then these random foreign dudes trying to pick me up to sell my body for spare parts, you can _hardly_ —"

   She abruptly jerked the phone away from her ear, grinning evilly; even from the kitchen, they could hear the hysterical screeching on the other end.

   "Oh, for the _love_ of— _Give me that!_ " Even on a crutch, Charley made it to the couch in a second, trying to snatch the handset from her laughing cousin.

   Alley quickly scrambled out of reach. “You’ll have to do better than that!” she sang, dangling the handset tauntingly.

   “Give me that phone,” Charley growled, hobbling after her.

   “Whatsa matter, Gimpy? Can’t keep up?” Alley teased.

   “I’m gonna kick your ass!”

   “Using what, your arm?” Still laughing, Alley darted around the couch … only to have the phone plucked from her fingers by a long, white tail. “Hey! That’s cheating!” she protested, jumping to try and catch it. Vinnie only grinned, holding it well above her grasping hands before tossing it to Charley. On the other end, Vivian was still yelling.

   “Thanks, Vinnie. I owe ya,” Charley laughed. "Hey, Aunt Viv? Yeah, it's Charley again. Listen, ignore everything that brat just told you. Absolutely _nothing_ happened, I promise." She aimed a swat at Alley's backside with the crutch as the grinning blonde slipped past, before heading down the hall to attempt some damage control. "Yeah, she did have some car trouble, but she arrived safe and sound. It's just been a little busy…" The bedroom door shut, blocking the rest of her words.

   Looking quite smug, Alley sauntered to the fridge to pour herself a glass of orange juice. Four amused gazes settled on her as she hopped up to sit on the counter, as all the chairs were otherwise occupied. "What?" she asked, all doe-eyed innocence as she calmly sipped her juice.

   Modo shook his head in disapproval, even though a grin insisted on twitching his mouth. "It weren't right, scarin' your poor mama like that," he scolded.

   Alley snorted into her cup. "Maybe. But it sure was fun.”

   Stoker barked a laugh, grinning at her unrepentant response. “You’re a bit of a brat, huh?”

   “Actually, the correct term is ‘unholy terror’. Well, according to my dad, anyway. But whatever.” She helped herself to a slice of bacon off the serving plate, then rolled her eyes at their continued scrutiny. “Look. There’s one thing you gotta know about my mom. She’s a chronic worrier.”

   “Nothin’ wrong with a parent worryin’ over a child,” Throttle grunted.

   “Not normally, no. But my mother is excessive. I mean, I once caught a head cold and she managed to convince herself I was dying of the bubonic plague.” Alley shook her head, smiling wryly. “I love my mom, but she drives me _insane_ . That’s why I came all the way out here to go to school, to get _away_ from her. Dad helped convince her to let me go, but only because he knew I’d go anyway, with or without her blessing, and _that’d_ probably drive her into a nervous breakdown.”

   “So you decide to repay him by giving her one over the phone the first time she calls?” Throttle peered at her over his specs, brow raised.

   Alley snorted, crunching another slice of bacon. "Well, since she was working herself into a full-blown tizzy anyway, I figured I might as well give her an actual reason."

   Stoker barked a short laugh. "You really are an unholy terror. I like that in a woman."

   She blinked at him. "Thanks. I think."

* * *

   “Should you be working on that foot?”

   Alley eyeballed her cousin critically as she leaned over the opened backside of the VW Bus, tinkering around inside. Charley pulled her head from Priscilla’s interior, wiping her hands on a well-used rag. She waved off Alley’s concern. “Garage’s still gotta run, injury or no.”

   “Why don’t you hire some help?”

   “Are you kidding? Mechanics are expensive to employ and the Last Chance is barely scraping by as it is. Besides, I’m the best mechanic this side of the galaxy. Nobody else can do half the job _I_ can,” she bragged. “And even aside from _that_ , what would I tell ‘em about those guys always droppin’ by?” She jerked her thumb toward a quartet of gleaming motorcycles, which were being studiously maintained by their furry owners as they sang along to a blaring radio in horribly off-key voices.

   “Hmm. Good point. But don’t _they_ ever help you out?”

   "Sure, but they’re no wrench jockeys. They’re good for heavy lifting and all, and they know their own bikes inside-out, but when it comes to fixing earth tech, they wouldn't know a carburetor from a spark plug." Charley glanced over at the mice with a grin. "No offense, guys!" she teased.

   “Hey, now, I resent that.” Stoker tossed her a mock-wounded glance. “I’ve got a lot more upstairs than these three lunkheads, I’ll have you know.”

   “Sure, you’re just bustin’ with brains. They’re just buried under all those cobwebs in the attic,” Charley teased.

   “Bah!” Stoker tossed a rag at her. “Keep _that_ up, and you’re not gettin’ your present, Missy,” he teased, eyes gleaming impishly.

   Charley perked up. “Oooh, present? Is it that thing I asked for last time you came by?”

   He laughed. “Maybe.”

   “What thing?” Vinnie wanted to know. “An’ how come you didn’t bring _us_ any presents?”

   "‘Cause you ain’t half as pretty to look at,” Stoker quipped. He glanced at Alley and winked. “Sorry, honey. Didn’t know I’d be meeting you, or I’d’ve brought you a present, too.”

   “Don’t worry about it,” Alley muttered, turning her back on him.

   He chuckled. “Still miffed about _that_ , I see. Anything I can do to make it up?”

   Alley flushed and opened her mouth to tell him _exactly_ what he could do … until Charley stuffed a sock in it.

   Well, it was really a rag, but _still_.

   The mice cracked up as Alley squealed and yanked the cotton out, wiping her mouth and spitting. “ _Charley!_ I can’t believe you just _did_ that!” she screeched. “That’s _disgusting_! You probably just poisoned me, you know!”

   “Relax, princess. It was a clean rag.” Charley laughed and rapped the back of Alley’s head with her knuckles, dodging her playful swipe. “Anyway, I finished checking out your bus.”

   "And? What's the verdict, Doc?"

   She shrugged. "Honestly? You'd be better off selling this clunker and getting yourself a new car," she replied. "I'm seriously amazed you managed to make it all the way out here with as little trouble as you had."

   "You can't fix it?" Alley couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice.

   Charley snorted. “Don’t insult me. I can fix _anything_. But it's gonna take time. Your transmission is almost shot and don’t get me started on the brakes! If you want to be able to drive it safely, it’s gonna need a lot of work, and authentic replacement parts are gonna be pricey."

   "What kind of pricey are we talking here?"

   Charley patted her shoulder. "Get yourself a new car, kid. A nice little compact that’ll be way better on gas mileage. I know some people who could get you a great deal on a trade-in.”

   "Aw, come on!" Alley cried. "I can't just give her up like that! I love Priscilla! She’s a classic!" She dramatically threw her arms around the bus, as far as she could reach. “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t lose you without a fight!”

   Charley rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. Look, if you're _that_ determined to keep her, I'll call in some favors and see about getting some parts. But you'll have to get yourself a job, unless you want your savings eaten up by this hunk of metal. And I'll have to work on her around my schedule. As you can see, I'm pretty overloaded as it is." She gestured around the garage, littered with cars and motorcycles in various stages of repair.

   “Maybe I can help?” Alley suggested.

   “ _You?_ ” Charley raised an eyebrow, taking in her cousin's ensemble of another frilly blouse and fluttery, knee-length skirt. Strappy heeled sandals with pale blue ribbons winding up her calves completed the look. "Not in that girly get-up, you can't."

   “I don’t mean right this _second_ , but hello, I _did_ grow up in a garage just like you, remember? I know my way around a toolbox.”

   “Oh, yeah?” Charley grinned and rummaged around her trolley cart, holding up a tool. “Prove it.”

   Alley crossed her arms smugly. “That’s obviously a ratchet wrench with a … three-eighth inch drive socket attached.”

   “And these?”

   “Vice Grip pliers. Tempered steel. Shiny.”

   “Not bad. How about this?”

   Alley sniffed. “Standard spark plug gauge. Really, is _that_ all you got?”

   “Okay, brat, tell me what _those_ are, and what they’re used for.” Charley nodded to two pieces of equipment parked by the half-completed Mustang.

   Alley pursed her lips and flipped back her hair. “ _Please_. The first one is a hydraulic engine crane, obviously used to lift and move engines. Second one looks like a thirty ton shop press. Used for various jobs. Oh, and that fancy get-up over there?” She pointed to a large, computer-like console near the garage door. “Looks an awful lot like an air conditioning service station.”

   Charley whistled. “Looks like you know your stuff.”

   “Of course I do!” Alley nodded toward a rack of tires. “Nice equipment there, too. Tire changer, alignment, balance, and … ooooo, is that a nitrogen filling station and generator I see? We _are_ going high-class, aren’t we? Dad would be jealous.”

   Charley laughed and gave her a playful shove. “All right, smartass, you proved your point. You know your way around a garage. But _knowing_ and _doing_ are two different things. When’s the last time you actually got your hands dirty?”

   “Hmmm…” Alley tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I might’ve been twelve. Maybe thirteen.” She grinned at her cousin’s expression. “What? Dad always said fixing engines is like riding a bike. Once you learn, you don’t forget.”

   “All the same, how about we start you off on something a little easier. And less likely to get you killed if you slip up.”

   “Weeelll … I couldn't help noticing that huge pile of unorganized paperwork overflowing on your sales desk over there. At least, I'm assuming that's a desk. That _is_ a desk, right?"

   Charley shot her a deadpan look. Alley grinned. "I might not have tinkered around an engine for a few years, but I _did_ do most of the filing and paperwork in Dad’s shop. Filled out orders, made appointments. Made sure needed parts and equipment were kept in stock. That sort of thing. I was sort of his unofficial co-manager-slash-secretary. It’s how I earned most of my money, actually, aside from some other odd-jobs here and there."

   Charley thought for a moment. She did hate filing paperwork, and tended to leave it “for later” as often as possible. Unfortunately, “later” always seemed to come … well … _later_ , and she was always too tired to deal with it, thus leaving her with the current mess of scattered bills, sales receipts, and jotted appointments in their haphazard piles on the desk. A secretary did indeed sound like a wonderful idea. "Didn't you have to go to the college today?" she asked.

   "I have all day. Besides, not going anywhere with my ride out of commission."

   "You’re welcome to borrow the truck, you know,” Charley offered. “Or you can probably catch a ride with one of the guys. Although, I wouldn’t recommend wearing a skirt. A bit drafty for a bike, I think.”

   Alley wrinkled her nose. “The truck will be fine, thanks.”

   Charley nodded, gestured at Alley to follow her. "Okay. then. Your mission, since you chose to accept it, is to get this mess organized into their respective piles. I have payments owed, receipts for payments made, and there's an actual appointment book buried in there somewhere. There’s also a parts supply list that needs to be checked over. I need everything sorted by date and time, and logged into the computer."

   "That's a computer?" Alley eyeballed the huge behemoth of a machine.

   "Hey, don't make fun. It's a perfectly good computer," Charley sniffed, patting the top of the ancient hard drive.

   Alley smirked. "I don't wanna hear another crack about my bus from someone whose computer has been around since the Kennedy administration."

   "It is not that old!" Charley gave her a playful glare. "I built it myself, I'll have you know. Excellent memory, huge hard drive, practically hack-proof, and let's see any viruses try to worm their way into _this_ baby. Can't get a system like this in a Best Buy!" She was clearly proud of her creation.

   "Yep. Looks like a Frankenstein to me." Alley patted the monitor. "That's a _good_ Frankie! Who's a good boy?" she cooed, laughing and skipping away when Charley tried to grab her into a headlock. "Hey, watch the duds!"

   "Okay," Charley laughed. "I gotta get back to work. You sure you can handle this? It’s a lot to organize."

   Alley scoffed. "Not a problem, Cuz. This is what I do. It's all good!"

 


	8. Eight

   "It's all good, huh?"

   Alley tipped her head back to meet Stoker’s amused gaze over the back of her chair. "It _would_ be, except Charley forgot to mention her supercomputer's possessed," she grumbled,  glaring sulkily at the lines of foreign text flashing across the monitor. "I don't even know what I did! I just opened what was _supposed_ to be a spreadsheet file and next thing I know..." She trailed off and shrugged, gesturing helplessly at the screen.

   “Hmmm…” Stoker leaned over the back of her chair, eyes intent on the monitor. The fur on his arm tickled her neck as he reached past her to tap a few keys, and she leaned away to give him more space. A warm, strangely familiar scent hit her nose, musky and sweet. It reminded her of horses and hay and sun-warmed fur, and she found herself inhaling deeply.

   He noticed, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow as a small grin twitched his mouth. “Something smell good?” he asked, voice low.

   She scowled. “Just thinking you smell like a horse stable,” she snapped, attempting to cover her embarrassment. “Do you bathe regularly on your planet?”

   His expression shuttered. “Actually, water is pretty scarce on Mars, no thanks to the stinkfish. Portions are strictly rationed, and baths are considered a luxury. We get by with what we have.” His voice held no anger, but Alley knew she’d just been thoroughly chastised, and she ducked her head, blushing to the roots of her hair.

   “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t—”

   “Ahhh, now isn’t _this_ interesting,” he cut in, completely ignoring her pitiful attempt to apologize. “Somehow, you’ve managed to access a Martian programming file.”

   She hesitated, wondering if she’d misheard. “A … _what_ now?”

   “See all this text?” he tapped the screen. “This is incomplete Martian coding. Looks like the beginning of a program, but there are parts missing. Here … and here… Looks to me like our Charley-girl’s been a busy little bee.” He chuckled. “The rookies always brag about how smart that lady is. I think they were understating. She’s a technological genius.”

   “Wait…” Alley rubbed a hand tiredly over her face. “Pretend for one second that I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about. What’s this mean? What’s she been busy at?”

   “I’ve been attempting to build a two-way communication system,” Charley said from behind them, making Alley jump. She leaned over the desk, tapping a sequence out on the keyboard. The monitor flickered and went blank; a moment later, the regular desktop came up. “I’ve got the basic communication coding down thanks to the guys' bikes, but you’re right, Stoker, it’s incomplete. I need to study something a little more advanced than the bikes for what I want to accomplish.”

   “You’re trying to build a communicator strong enough to reach all the way to Mars,” Stoker reasoned. “That’s why you asked me to bring some ship communication components next time I dropped by.”

   She shrugged. “I know it’s hard on the guys, being stuck down here without any way to contact Mars, always waiting for some communication from home. I can tell they’re restless. They worry about what’s going on up there. I figure maybe if they could talk to their families and loved ones, it’d help. Even if they can’t leave Earth, at least they’d feel a little closer to home.”

   “But, wait,” Alley interjected. “How can you do that? I mean, wouldn’t NASA or someone pick up on the radio signals or whatever?”

   “And there’s the trick of it.” Charley nodded. “But the mice have been studying Earth for decades without anyone being the wiser. They’ve come and gone, and have always managed to evade Earth’s detection. They have ways of … cloaking the signals so they don’t get picked up. I’m sure if I can get a look at their technology, I can copy it well enough to build a makeshift communicator of my own. The guys do have a small port unit that can receive messages and orders from Mars. My plan is to build on it, so they can send them back without detection, as well.”

   “Wow,” Alley breathed, deeply impressed. “You really _are_ a genius.”

   “That’s _if_ I can get it to work.” Charley smiled wryly. “My Martian coding isn’t up to standard yet, I’m afraid. It’s pretty slow going. The war might be over before I can even get it up and running.”

   “Why not ask the guys for help?”

   “Well, it’s sort of a surprise. They have no idea I’m doing this,” Charley admitted.

   “Then I’ll help you out,” Stoker offered. He chuckled at her dubious look. “Don’t worry, I can keep my mouth shut. They won’t get a peep outta me.”

   “That’d really be helpful. Thanks, Stoker.” Charley beamed at him. “My hope is to be finished with it by Christmas. I figure it’d make a hell of a gift.”

   "That it would," he agreed. "In exchange for my help, I want to be there for the unveiling. I'd love to see the expressions on those punks' faces when they get a load of this."

   "So you're plannin' on sticking around for awhile?" Charley asked.  "It'd be real nice to see you, but won't HQ get a little pissy if one of their best guys ups and disappears on 'em?"

   "I told 'em where I was goin'. They can't complain."

   "Uh-huh." Charley smirked at him. "Knowing you, you probably just tacked a note on the door before taking off. 'Gone to Earth. Be back soon!' Am I right?"

   He grinned. "It's almost spooky how well you know me."

   "Oh, it's no mystery," she snorted. "I practically _live_ with a trio of Stoker-clones. If I haven't figured out what makes you macho mice tick by _now_ , I don't deserve to be called a genius."

   Stoker winked and chuckled before heading back to his bike.

   As soon as he was gone, Charley gave her cousin a hard pinch on the arm. " _Ow!_ " Alley yelped. “The _hell_ , Charley!" She glared and rubbed her abused bicep. "It's not like I knew you were hiding some big secret in this thing!"

   "That's _not_ why I pinched you. You _promised_ , Alley."

   "Promised _what_?"

   "To treat my friends with respect. That _includes_ Stoker." Charley lowered her voice. "I heard what you said to him, and if _I_ heard, that means the guys probably did, too. Retired or not, Stoker is a well-respected general, and insulting him in front of his subordinates is demeaning!"

   "Come on, I'm not deaf. You guys have been goin’ at it all morning," Alley protested.

   “That’s different. Teasing and good-natured banter are fine. Deliberate insults are _not_.”

   "I didn't insult him."

   Charley raised an eyebrow. "So telling him he smells like a stable was a _compliment_."

   "Yes," Alley replied pertly.

   " _On what planet?_ " Charley threw her arms up, and Alley pressed her lips together to keep from grinning.

   “Remember Pop-pop Davidson's horse ranch in Montana?"

   Charley blinked down at her cousin, nonplussed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

   Alley leaned back in the chair. "Those summer visits we used to have when we were little kids. Well, when _I_ was a little kid, anyway. Fishing and swimming and horseback riding… And remember how he always let us sleep out in the horse stables, up in the hay loft? We'd pile all those hay bales together and make blanket forts and mazes out of 'em, and tell each other ghost stories. Yours were always way scarier, though."

   Charley’s expression softened. "Wow. I haven't thought of the ranch in _years_. That brings back memories. Those were great times, huh?" 

   Alley smiled wistfully. "Yeah. Those trips were always my favorite vacations, getting to hang out with my cool older cousin. I was so _mad_ when the family sold the ranch after Pop-pop died."

   "Well, our dads weren’t exactly the rancher types,” Charley replied with a laugh. “And they had the garage to run, after all. Couldn't just drop everything and move out to the country. Selling it was the reasonable thing to do. ‘Sides, that money helped Uncle Chuck start his business in Florida, right?"

   “Sure, I know that _now_. But I still miss those days sometimes.”

   Charley pursed her lips. “That’s all well and good, but I still don’t see how the ranch relates in any way to the current topic."

   Alley squirmed, embarrassed. "I'm _saying_ , I always thought the stables smelled good. Clean hay and horses and fresh air. Like good memories. That's what … Stoker smells like. And that’s why telling him he smells like a stable wasn’t an insult." She felt herself blushing as a delighted grin slid over her cousin's face. "And if you _ever_ tell him I said that, I'll kick your ass."

   Charley held up her hands, her expression oddly coy. "I won't say a single word," she promised, sounding _way_ too innocent.

   Alley's eyes narrowed, and then she huffed and let her head drop onto her crossed arms. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

   "Well, not _right_ behind you. He's actually about five feet back and a little to your left."

   She lifted her head to glare. "And it would've killed you to let me know he was listening?"

   Charley grinned, winking at the tan mouse. “I figured his poor ego needed a bit of soothing after that bawling out you gave him this morning.”

   “How thoughtful of you,” Alley muttered. “Gimme your truck keys. I need to head to the school for that paperwork and stuff.”

   “What about the filing?”

   “It’s almost done. I’ll finish when I get back.” Alley held out her hand.

   “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” Grinning, Charley dropped the keys into her open palm.

   Alley chose not to dignify that with a response. She grabbed her messenger bag off the back of the chair where she’d slung it and made a beeline for the door, pausing just long enough to shoot Stoker a threatening glower. “It doesn’t mean anything and I _don’t_ wanna hear one word about it.”

   He held up his hands in mock-surrender, affecting a serious expression. But he couldn’t quite hide the grin twitching at his mouth as she turned on her heel and stomped out of the garage to the truck parked around the side. He glanced at Charley, smirking. “What was that you said about me losing my touch?” he teased.

   Charley laughed and threw a rag at his head.


	9. Nine

   Alley muttered to herself and punched the button on the elevator, waiting for the lift to carry her up to another floor. This was the fifth ride she’d taken so far in search of the elusive Main Office, and her nerves were about shot. And it was _totally_ Stoker’s fault. He’d had her so turned around that she’d taken off without remembering to grab the GPS out of Priscilla’s glove-box, thus leaving her to find her way to the Chicago Institute of Art and Design without so much as a road map to guide her.

    After two hours of battling downtown mid-afternoon traffic, getting turned around twice (once going the wrong way up a one-way street), stopping at three different convenience stores to ask for directions, she’d _finally_ made it to the main campus located three miles outside of the actual city. Only to be faced with another conundrum: the campus really was _huge_ . The four buildings _on_ the campus were huge. And only one of them contained the offices where she was supposed to fill out the final papers to turn in for the start of her school year.

    On a whim, she’d picked the biggest building that was located the furthest from the gated entrance, which had thankfully been the right choice (according to the random student she’d asked in passing). But now that she was in the place she was supposed to be, she found herself confused and lost all over again. The large floor layout maps hanging on the walls by the elevators and escalators were proving less than useful. Big red dots with the words “You are here” graced every one, but the maps themselves were all wrong, and didn’t seem to match the actual floor plans at all. So no matter where Alley supposedly _was_ , she couldn’t help feeling like she was supposed to be somewhere else altogether!

    The elevator dinged, the door slid open, and she stomped out of the lift and turned right … only to run headlong into a wall of books and poster tubes, hard enough to knock herself flat on her ass. There was a startled yelp from behind the book-wall as it promptly came tumbling down, scattering tomes and tubes all around her. And the tall, skinny man who’d been holding them blinked owlishly at her from the wire-framed glasses that had been knocked askew on his nose.

    “I am so sorry!” Alley cried, scrambling to her knees to help pick up the scattered books. Her entire body was flaming with mortification. “I wasn’t looking and I knocked into you and I am just _so_ sorry,” she babbled.

    “No worries,” the man grunted, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t exactly looking where I was going, either. What with the books blocking my view and all.” He offered a crooked grin, soft gray eyes smiling down at her through an unkempt mop of sandy brown curls. “You okay?” He offered a hand to help her up, which she gratefully accepted. “No broken bones or anything?”

    “Nah, I’m fine. How about you?” she replied. “I hit you pretty hard.”

    “Oh, don’t worry about _him_. He’s used to being knocked on his ass by girls.”

    The man heaved a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes as a woman dressed all in purple and black joined them. She smirked at him and kicked a poster tube out of her way with a well-worn engineer boot. “This your new method for picking up women? Play the injured puppy and get them cooing and drooling all over you in sympathy?” she teased.

    “Don’t you have some kittens to eat or something?’

    “I upgraded my diet to pig hearts this week. More protein.”

    Alley watched the two of them banter, fascinated. They were as different as two people could be. If she had to put a title, he was classic preppy nerd while the girl was clearly the punk-goth type. In normal society, these two would hardly take time to _look_ at each other, much less interact like … well, a lot like her and Charley did, actually.

    “Are you two related by chance?” she blurted, and felt herself blushing all over again when the pair stopped talking and turned to face her. Goth Chic had gray eyes, too, she noted, heavily made up with dark shadow and liner. And she suspected that under the cherry-red hair dye, the girl’s natural hair color was also brown.

    “You’re good,” Goth Chic commented. “Most people don’t figure it out on the first try. You must have an annoying brother, too.”

    “I’m an only child, actually. But my cousin and I get along pretty much the same way,” Alley explained. “So, you’re siblings?”

    “Yeah, we’re twins. Can’t you tell?” Goth Chic’s voice was so bland, Alley couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

    Preppy rolled his eyes and smacked his sister across the head. “What the birth defect _means_ to say is her name is Constance Archer. And I’m Christopher.”

    “Call me Chex,” the girl put in. “If you call me Constance or Connie, I'll be forced to kill you. You can call _him_ the Mutant Hobbit.” Another smack over the head from said Hobbit. “Okay, fine, call him Chris.”

    Alley laughed. “Alley Davidson,” she said. “Freshly relocated from Florida. And you’re from?”

    “Oh, we’re born-and-bred Illinoisans,” Christopher replied with a grin. “Chi-town residents for the past ten years. A little town called Penbrooke before that.”

    “They call it a town, but it’s more like a speck of dirt on a map. You know, the kind you try and scratch off with your fingernail.” Chex demonstrated by scratching the air with a black-painted nail. "Oh, speaking of maps, I probably should tell you, the maps on the walls? They’ve been switched around.”

    Alley’s brow furrowed. “Switched?”

    “Yeah.” Chris nodded at the map behind them. “That one says Atrium floor, but the Atrium is actually in another building. This is the Hospic floor. Who knows where _that_ map ended up.”

    Alley’s jaw dropped. “No _wonder_ I can't figure out where I am!” she huffed. “What morons went and switched the maps?”

    “Just some prank from the senior students,” Chex said with a shrug. “The frat houses tend to pull crazy shit like this to confuse the hell out of the newbies. Congrats. You can consider yourself officially initiated. Welcome to college. Just like high school, but with a lot more drinking.”

* * *

   After picking up the rest of the books, the twins guided Alley to the correct office located on the first floor in the back of the building. They seemed to know their way around the place pretty well, and when Christopher told her why, she was astonished. “Your father is the _dean_?” she repeated.

    “Yeah, but don’t hold it against us,” Chex deadpanned. “We can’t help who we were born to.”

    “So you know this place pretty well, huh?”

    “We’ve been running around these buildings since we were kids. I always wanted to attend school here,” Chris told her. “My sister is here because her other option was Military boot camp, but the food is better here.”

    “Ah.” Alley grinned. “That would be those pig hearts you mentioned?”

    “And let us not forget the kittens,” Chex added. “So, what’re you majoring in?”

    “Well, because my parents absolutely _insisted_ on me picking something I can make a real career out of, my major is graphic design. But since I’m not sure if that’s what I actually want to _do_ , I’m minoring in creative writing and music composition, and looking into a few possible art courses for next semester.”

    “Sweet. Another writer type. I dig it.” Chex offered a high-five, but hastily reconsidered when she nearly dropped her armload of books. “What’s your preference? Novels? Poetry? Essays?”

    “Well, I don’t really know,” Alley admitted. “I’ve mostly kept journals and stuff, and I’ve written some song lyrics here and there, a few poems. But since I’ve never actually let anyone _read_ any of it, I don’t know if they’re any good or not.”

    “You write music?” Chris asked.

    “Sort of. I didn’t take a lot of music classes in high school, but I do know my basics. I took piano lessons for eight years. I’m in the beginning course for music composition. I think it’d be fun to try writing my own songs.”

    “Do you sing, too?” he asked hopefully.

    “What’s with the twenty questions?” Chex nudged her brother. “Trying to recruit her for your little band?”

    Alley raised her eyebrows. “You’re in a band?”

    She must’ve sounded skeptical, because he drew himself up, looking a little wounded. “It’s nothing spectacular, just a garage band I put together back in high school, but we get decent gigs on weekends and stuff,” he replied. “It’s a lot of fun. Hang out, play good music. Get _paid_ for it, even. Since we graduated, though, some of the members have left. The drummer headed to Oxford and our female lead singer is attending Juilliard. We’ve still got our bass and guitar players, and I sing and play the keyboard.”

    “That’s cool,” Alley said.

    “We’ll probably hold auditions for another keyboard player and singer once classes start. See if we can get some interest. It’d be great to keep the band going, if we can.”

    Chex cupped a hand to her mouth and added in a stage-whisper, “That’s a hint for you to show up and sing.”

    Chris mimicked the move. “She’s just mad ‘cause we won’t let her join. She can’t hold a note to save her life.”

    “Butthead.”

    “Birth defect.”

    “Awww, you guys love each other so _much_ ,” Alley teased. “Almost makes me wish I had a brother, too.”

    “Don’t. You’re better off,” Chex said blandly.

    Alley laughed. “So what’re you majoring in, Chex? You like writing, too?”

    “ _Connie_ has wanted to be a professional writer since she was old enough to pick up a pencil,” Chris said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t get her started on the subject or you’ll never get her to shut up again.”

    “Don’t mind him.” Chex pulled a face at her brother. “ _His_ ultimate goal in life is to be our dad’s personal Mini Me. He fully plans to take over the position of dean when Pops retires.”

    “That’s not set in stone,” Chris muttered, blushing a little. “But it’s sort of a position that’s been passed down in the family since the school was founded. As the oldest son—”

    “As the _only_ son,” she cut in with a snort.

    Chris shot her a brief glare before turning his attention back to Alley. “Our family founded this school,” he explained. "We don’t _own_ it, per say, but it’s always been the Archer sons who have taken the position of dean.”

    “It’s got something to do with the founding father’s will or some sort of legal shit like that,” Chex put in, waving a dismissive hand. “Even though there’s a board of directors and all sorts of officials these days, they can’t kick an Archer son out of the position, unless he willingly steps down.”

    “So, when Dad retires, I’ll be taking over as the dean,” Chris finished.

    “Wow. That’s kind of nice, knowing you’ve got a career path all planned out for you.” Alley pursed her lips, considering. “Unless … you don’t _want_ to be the dean? Then I guess it’d be kind of a pain in the ass.”

    “No, I’m willing to step into the position, but it’ll be after Dad retires, and since he’s only in his forties, that won’t be happening for awhile.”

    “So, what do you plan to do with yourself in the meantime?”

    “I’m majoring in musical composition, the advanced classes. I’d like a career in music. Maybe become a pianist, or even a teacher. It’d be kind of fun to teach classes here, actually.”

    Chex snorted. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, my brother _really_ loves this school.”

    “Oh, like _you’re_ one to talk.”

    Alley grinned as she listened to the twins’ bickering, which only ended when they finally reached their destination. “The offices are right through here," Chris announced, pushing open a set of swinging doors to reveal a posh waiting room.

    “The dean’s office technically closes at five,” Chex said, “but being his kids gives us certain advantages.” She flashed a cheeky smile at the secretary and sauntered down the short hallway as if she owned the place, stopping before a closed door. “Hey, Pops, you in?” she called.

    “C'mon in,” came a deep voice from the other side. Chex pushed the door ope and stepped into a large, richly furnished office with Chris and Alley bringing up the rear. “Got those books and posters you wanted,” she grunted, dumping her armload onto the mahogany desk. The dark-haired man on the other side glanced up from his ledger, gray eyes crinkling with a smile.

    “Thanks, kids.” His eyes fell on Alley. “I’m sorry, young lady, the office is closed now.”

    “Um,” Alley began, but Chris hastily stepped in. “She’s with us,” he explained. “She got lost trying to get here because someone went and switched all the floor maps on the walls.”

    “ _Again?_ ” Mr. Archer rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t we just go through that last year?”

    “Better up the security, Pops.” Chex took her brother's armload of books and unceremoniously dumped them into an empty armchair. “Tricky bastards, those seniors.”

    “Language, Constance,” the dean sighed.

    “Sorry, Sir.” She didn't sound sorry at all.

    “Alley has some more papers she needed to sign. Think she could do that real quick? After all the trouble she had getting here and all…” Chris prodded.

    “Sure, sure. Have Mary pull the file. Alley, was it? You can sit at the table out there and finish what you need. I just ask that you be done by six thirty. That’s when Mary has to leave.”

    “Oh, that’ll be plenty of time. Thank you, Sir,” Alley replied gratefully, placing the poster tubes she was holding on the chair beside the books. She stood awkwardly, wondering if she should bow or curtsy or something, and settled for a polite nod as she turned to follow Chex back to the waiting area.

* * *

    Half an hour later, Alley was on the final paper, filling in her new address. She jotted Charley’s house phone down as a temporary number until she could buy a cell phone. She considered who to put as emergency contact. Her parents were on the other side of the States, so they were out. Charley was the only person she knew in this city, aside from the mice, but she could hardly use _their_ names. She wasn’t sure if they even used phones. Probably best to leave it blank for the moment. She could always fill it later.

    She glanced at the twins, who had for whatever reason decided to stick around; Chris had made himself comfortable in an armchair, absorbed in a well-worn copy of what looked like a science fiction novel.

    Chex lounged on a loveseat with her long black-and-purple-striped legs resting against the back of the couch and her bright red hair brushing the ground. She didn’t seem to care that her short, black-lace tutu skirt had ridden up her waist and now rested in a frothy pile on her stomach. Or that her upside-down face was slowly turning the same shade as her hair as her booted feet danced in the air, keeping time to whatever song was playing on her iPod. She completely ignored the disapproving glances both Mary and her brother kept tossing at her; if anything, they only seemed to encourage her as she drummed the air with her purple-gloved hands, body squirming as she danced on her back. Alley found herself grinning, wondering if she could convince Chex to come shopping with her for a new phone that week. She had a feeling that, despite their very different appearances, the two of them would get along swimmingly.

   A disturbance from the front of the waiting area caught her attention, and she looked toward the front desk, where three men had entered the doors and were casually strolling toward them, ignoring Mary’s frantic attempts to stop them.

    “Aw, shit,” Chex swore softly. “The Purple People Eater’s back.” She quickly flipped herself around and patted down her skirt, snatched a photography magazine off a nearby rack and hastily flipped it open. She didn’t seem to notice it was upside-down. “Keep your head down,” she hissed to Alley. “Don’t look at ‘em, don’t draw attention to yourself, and whatever you do, _hold your breath._ ”

    “Hold my— _bwoaaarph_ ,” Alley gagged as a most awful _stench_ suddenly hit her like a brick to the face. She choked, one hand coming up to pinch her nose shut as she ducked her head, staring through tearing eyes at the forms in front of her. The three men passed them, and she dared to glance up for a better look, then did a triple-take. Purple People Eater was right! He was the largest man she’d ever seen. And he was dressed in the most glaringly purple pinstriped suit her eyeballs had ever had the misfortune to encounter. His greasy black hair was slicked back in some semblance of a coif and he carried a cane in one white-gloved hand. All he needed was a Tommy Gun and he’d be the epitome of the classic 1940s mob boss.

    He noticed her staring, gave her a cold smile that sent a chill shivering up her spine, and sauntered down the short hallway to the Mr. Archer’s office. The two henchmen following him, looking more like typical thugs on a street corner than anything, didn’t even glance her way. She watched them go, wondering why in the world she felt like she’d seen him before.

    As soon as the office door opened and shut, Alley released her breath and gasped for air for a moment. “Holy _hell_ ,” she hissed. “Did somebody drop that guy into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

    Chex burst out laughing and reached over to slug her brother in the arm. “See? I _told_ you I wasn’t the only person in the world who watches Labyrinth!”

    “Well, we all must have _some_ flaws,” Chris sniffed, shutting his book.

   “Says the guy reading The Man Who Fell to Earth for the umpteenth time.”

    “It’s a classic book!”

    “And Labyrinth is a classic movie!"

    “Guys!” Alley snapped her fingers to get their attention. “Focus. Who _was_ that?”

    “Trouble,” Chris grumbled. “He’s been coming around lately. Dad says he’s been trying to convince him to sell him the school or something. He wants the land around it.”

    “Yeah, he seems to have it in his head that Pops owns the place and has the legal authority to sell out, or can convince the board members to sell out, or something. I dunno, the guy’s a nutball.” Chex circled her temple with a finger.

    “Well … hasn’t anyone called the cops on him or something?”

    “Won’t do any good.” Chris ran his fingers through his tousled curls, mussing them even further. “His thugs are there for show, but he hasn’t actually gotten violent or anything so they can’t toss his fat ass out. Dad wouldn’t, anyway. He prefers to keep the peace and try and talk things out.”

    “Yeah, he’s stupid like that,” Chex muttered, earning a glare from her twin.

    “Besides, we think he sort of owns the police. He lines their pockets and all.” Chris rubbed his fingers together.

    “He’s got some weird-ass cheese name,” Chex added. “Like, it _really_ fits him, though.” She glanced at her brother. “What was it? Muenster? Pepperjack?”

    “Limburger,” Alley said quietly, as it abruptly hit her where she’d seen him before. In Throttle’s memories. “That’s Lawrence Limburger.”

    “Yeah! That’s it!” Chex laughed. “Smelly cheese for a really smelly guy!”

    “How often does he stop by?” Alley asked.

    “I dunno. He started coming around about two months ago. Once or twice a week, I guess. No big deal, really.”

    “No, listen, this _is_ a big deal.” Alley shook her head. “That guy, he’s _dangerous_. He’s—” She stopped, struggling to think up a way to explain _how_ dangerous. She doubted the truth would get her anywhere but locked up in a nuthouse. “He’s mafia,” she finally blurted. “He’s a boss in the mafia, and he’s buying up property all over the state to strip-mine it. He seems focused primarily on Chicago, though. My cousin, Charley? She’s been harassed by Limburger for _years_ , trying to buy out her garage, or take it by force. She’s managed to resist, but only ‘cause she’s got some good friends helping her out. If it wasn’t for them, she’d be out of business by now. Possibly worse. He _has_ gotten violent with her in the past. If something isn’t done to stop him, he’ll start using force to get what he wants here, too. _Trust_ me on this, okay? I believe my cousin.”

    The twins stared at her, wide-eyed. Even Mary had stopped what she was doing to listen.

    “But, when he first showed up, Pops called the cops on him, and they didn’t do anything,” Chex finally said. “I mean, they said they _couldn’t_ do anything.”

    “Never mind that he was legally trespassing, showing up after-hours without an appointment and even making veiled threats,” Chris added. “That’s why we figured he’s got the police in his pocket. They could’ve done _something_ otherwise.”

    Alley chewed on her lower lip. “I gotta get back,” she decided. “I’ve been gone too long, anyhow. Charley needs her truck back, and I want to talk to the guys about this. Her friends, I mean. They can probably help, and the cops never even need to know.” She gathered the paperwork and slid it back into the folder, taking it to Mary.

    “You two should get yourselves home,” the secretary told the twins. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay and make sure Mr. Archer gets out safely. I’ll call security in to escort him if I have to.” She took the file from Alley and nodded. “Welcome to the Institute, Miss Davidson. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself here.”

    Alley flashed her a weak smile. “Well, can’t say it won’t be interesting, at least.”

 


	10. Ten

   “Hey, you hungry?” Chris asked as he and Chex followed Alley out of the office. “There’s a great bar and grill right on the school grounds. They’ve got the best seafood chowder this side of the country.”

   Alley hesitated. She really should get back to the garage and let Charley know what she’d seen, but she _was_ a bit famished. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and it was already past six o’clock. Her stomach gave a long, low gurgle at the reminder, and she grinned as Chris laughed. “I could use a bite to eat,” she agreed.

   “Then right this way, if you please.” He steered her away from the parking lot and toward another smallish building that was only two stories tall. “This is the Atrium,” he explained. “Well, the first floor of it is the actual atrium; the upper level is offices for the teachers and staff. It’s pretty much the hangout for students. The bar is inside, a few small gift shops, the school bookstore, and lots of seating for just hanging out and relaxing.”

   “Best part of the whole school,” Chex put in. “Although if you plan on drinking, you’ll have to show ID.”

   “I’m only twenty,” Alley admitted.

   “Really? I kind of thought you were older than that,” Chris said, looking surprised.

   “He’s into the older chics,” Chex teased, poking her brother in the ribs.

   “Why? How old are you?”

   Chris looked embarrassed, scratching his head. “Actually, we’re only eighteen. Just graduated high school.”

   Alley’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? I thought you were like my age or something!”

   “You’re only a college freshman, too, right?” Chex wanted to know. “Shouldn’t you be in a higher grade?”

   “I took a year off after graduating to work full-time and save up extra money. And to figure out what school I wanted to attend. I did take a couple of weekend courses at the community college to get in some of my credits and stuff, but nothing full-term.”

   “Hey, that’s fine. In college, age doesn’t really matter. We’re all still consenting adults,” Chris said.

   Chex smirked at him and waggled her eyebrows. “Consenting for what, I wonder.”

   “Aw, shut up, Red. Nobody asked you.” Face flushed, Chris stomped into a dimly-lit restaurant and made his way to the bar.

   Chex laughed. “He’s such a weenie around girls.”

   Alley grinned. “He’s kinda cute, though. For a kid,” she teased, earning a dry look in response.

* * *

   The food really was good at the Atrium Grill. Not only the chowder, but the thickest, gooiest grilled cheese sandwich that Alley had ever had the pleasure of biting into. “I’ve died and gone to nirvana,” she sighed, wrapping the cheese that had oozed out of the bread onto her plate around her fork. “What was in that sandwich?”

   “Cheese.” Chex took a bite of her fried chicken.

   Alley snorted a laugh. “Well, duh. I meant what _kind_?”

   “Not sure. Trade secret, but I’m pretty sure they use a blend,” Chris replied. “And they grill it using mayonnaise instead of butter. Supposed to be healthier or something.”

   “Right. Because six different blends of cheese in a single sandwich is the absolute _epitome_ of health food,” Chex said blandly.

   “How do you know that?” Chris eyed her suspiciously, and she smirked.

   “I have my ways.”

   “You boinked the head cook, didn’t you?”

   “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know.”

   “Actually, I really, really wouldn’t.” He shuddered as Alley sought to hide her grin behind her soda glass.

   “How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for her bag, but Chris waved her off.

   “Don’t worry about it. My treat,” he replied.

   “Are you sure?”

   “Of course! What kind of gentleman makes a woman pay for her own meal?” He ignored Chex’s derisive snort and flashed a smile at Alley. “I invited you, so I’ll pay this one, okay?”

   She consented with a nod and a smile. “Well, if we do this again, let me pay for you as thanks. Both of you,” she added, not wanting Chex to be left out.

   “Oooo. Friend-zoned!” Chex sang under her breath, earning a kick under the table. She just smirked at her glowering twin.

   Alley bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t offended him, but he gave her another charming smile and pulled some bills out of his wallet. “School year is just beginning,” he said casually. “I’ll definitely take you up on the offer for another meal."

   “Yeah. Me, too,” Chex added, grinning. “You seem like fun. Even if you _do_ look like a Barbie doll.”

* * *

   It had grown dark by the time they left the Atrium. Alley had stopped by the bookstore to pick up the last two textbooks she needed for her classes. Chex said her goodbyes before heading toward the dorms, where she was staying. “More privileges of being the dean’s kid. Really cheap boarding, and I don’t have to live at home with the wicked step-mom,” she explained with a smirk.

   “She’s not _that_ bad,” Chris said with a frown.

   “Not to Mr. Perfect Son. But she doesn’t like me very much. I refuse to bend over and kiss her ass.”

   “Well, maybe if you wouldn’t dress like—”

   “Like _what_? Like someone with her own brain and a willingness to use it?” Chex stopped walking and faced him with a fist planted on her hips. “I’m my own person. I have my own way of living, and there’s nothing wrong with how I dress. You might be willing to let her groom you like a little lapdog, but I refuse. She’s not even our real mom, and she hasn’t done _anything_ to earn the title.” She flipped her cherry hair. “Besides, _you’re_ one to talk. You’re living in the dorms, too!”

   “Because there’s no point in driving to school when we can live right on the grounds,” Chris sighed, clearly used to this conversation.

   “Right, whatever. I’m heading back. See you around, Alley. We should hang out sometime.” She stomped off, skirt swishing.

   “Yeah, I’d like that,” Alley called after her.

   Chris flashed her a sheepish grin, shrugging. “Typical sibling spat. They never last long,” he apologized. “She’ll be over it by morning.”

   “You said you had a step-mom?”

   “Yeah. Our real mom took off when we were just little.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Dad was always busy in the school, so we were mostly raised by nannies. Then he came home one day a few years back and said he was getting remarried. Her name is Victoria. She’s a real classy lady. She comes from money, you know? I guess Dad had met her at some associates’ function raising money for the college. Anyway, I was okay with him getting married, but Chex took it hard. I guess … she was always holding out hope that Mom might come back someday. Or something.” He shrugged again. “We were seven when she left. Chex took it the hardest. Mom hardly ever contacts us. Maybe a birthday or Christmas card here and there. But she made it clear she just wasn’t willing to be a mother. She’s living it up on some tropical island somewhere.” His smile was brittle.

   “I’m sorry,” Alley said softly. “I didn’t mean to pry or bring up bad memories.”

   “Nah. Not your fault. Anyway, guess you should be getting back, huh?”

   “Yeah, Charley’s probably getting a little worried by now.” Alley juggled the books as she fumbled for her keys in the bottom of her bag. Chris pulled his phone out of his pocket, fiddled with the touch screen for a few seconds, and then the camera flash flicked on, effectively giving her light to see by. “They need to install more lights along the walks. Dad’s been after the board to get on that for years,” he complained.

    “The parking lot is lit well enough.”

   “Yeah, but getting to it can be dangerous after sundown. Not everyone around here is as nice as I am, and you’re a really pretty girl.”

   Alley blushed a little, charmed by his fumbling attempts to flirt. “That’s sweet of you, but I can take care of myself. I’ve got pepper spray with me. And I also know self-defense. Dad made me take some classes when I started growing boobs.” She laughed at the expression on his face. “The truck is right … over…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on the pickup. Or, more precisely, on the three very large men who were standing around the pickup, talking amongst themselves. “Aren’t those…?“

   “Limburger's thugs,” Chris huffed. “What’re they doing? Where’s the boss?”

   Alley slowed and ducked behind a large SUV parked in the nearly-empty lot, trying to see what they were up to. “Are they trying to break into the truck?” she whispered.

   “No, looks more like they’re keeping watch. Or waiting for someone.”

   “For me to come back?” Alley shifted nervously. “Why would they be waiting for _me_? They don’t even know who I am.” Unless somehow they’d figured it out … but how would they? She hadn’t given Limburger her name, and there was no reason for him to ask for it. She doubted she even registered on his radar enough for him to get curious. There was absolutely no way he could have figured out who she was in those few brief moments of passing.

   _Unless…_

   “The _truck_ ,” she breathed, smacking her forehead. “It’s got the garage’s name on the doors. He must’ve seen it and recognized the name, and thinks Charley is _here_. And he’s sent his thugs to wait for her to come back.”

   “Planning on jumping her?” Chris whispered.

   “I dunno. Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s a nasty piece of work, from what I heard. And he _really_ doesn’t like her friends.”

   “We should call the police. They won’t touch Limburger but his thugs aren’t off-limits.” Chris pulled his phone out again, but was stopped by Alley’s hand on his.

   “Wait. I think … they’re leaving,” she said, slowly standing up. Indeed, the men had backed away from the truck and were currently sauntering across the lot to a pair of what looked like dune buggies parked in the shadows.

   “Hey, weren’t there three of them?” Chris asked. “Where’d that fourth guy come from?”

   “Who cares? I’m just glad they’re gone.” Alley made a beeline for the truck, only to be brought up short by Chris’s hands on her shoulders, bringing her to a staggering halt. Just as a large, gleaming, vintage 1930s Rolls Royce cruised slowly past them. Alley’s jaw dropped. It would have been a _beautiful_ car … had it not been painted an eye-gouging shade of purple. She knew instantly who it belonged to. To prove it, the car came to a gliding halt and the window rolled down. Alley instinctively held her breath as Limburger’s cold, gleaming eyes met hers.

   “So, young lady. We meet again.” His voice was cultured, refined, smooth as an oil slick. His eyes left hers, darted to the truck she stood only two feet away from, slid back with a raised eyebrow. He said nothing, but his gaze was suspicious. She bit her lip, feeling light-headed from lack of breath, and prayed he’d just _leave_ before she passed out. “Be careful out there,” he warned, a humorless smile tugging at his thick lips. “There may be … unsavory people lurking about.”

   “Thanks for the warning,” she choked out, and let loose the breath she’d been holding when the window rolled up and the car moved on. “Okay, _I’m_ totally freaked out. Are you totally freaked out? ‘Cause I’m _totally freaked out_ ,” she babbled.

   “Hey, hey, relax,” Chris soothed, putting an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm vigorously. “The creep is gone, we’re fine. Are you okay?”

   “I don’t know,” she groaned, staggering to the truck to lean heavily against the door. She looked it over, checking the locks, but nothing seemed out of place. Then she frowned as she recalled the fourth thug who’d popped up from nowhere, a niggling suspicion forming. “Lemme see that light again,” she grunted, kneeling on the ground beside the truck. “Shine it under here.”

   He complied, and her worst fear was confirmed: Something dark and liquid was leaking in a steady drip under the cab, steadily forming a large puddle. “Holy shit,” Chris breathed. “What’d they _do_?”

   She sighed. “I’m pretty sure they cut the brake line. They were aiming to murder me. Well, my cousin, anyway.” She flashed him a weak smile. “Still think he isn’t a threat?”

   “I’m calling the cops.” His voice left no room for argument.

   “And tell them what? Limburger has it in for my cousin so he got his goons to sabotage her truck in order to kill her? There’s no proof he had anything to do with it. We didn’t get a good look at those guys, either, so we have no descriptions.”

   “Well, what else can we _do_?” he huffed, frustrated.

   “Can I borrow your phone? I have to call Charley. She’ll have to come tow the truck back. And she’ll want to know I’m okay.” Alley sighed. “Maybe you should take off. If Limburger figured out I’m related in any way to Charley or the mi--her friends, he’ll be back. And you’ll be targeted, too. Just by association.”

   “If it comes to that, I’m a target, anyway. He’s after this place, too, and I _am_ the dean’s son, after all.” Chris handed her his phone and crossed his arms. “I’m not about to take off on you _now_. So don’t even bother trying.”

   “Thanks.” She smiled at him gratefully and dialed Charley’s number. “Come on, pick up. Pick up!”

   The line clicked. “Last Chance Garage, this is Charley speaking.”

   “Charley? It’s me.” Alley held the phone away from her ear as Charley immediately started in on her.

   “Where the hell have you _been_? Do you know what time it is? I mean, I know you’re a grown-ass woman and all but for cripe’s sake couldn’t you at _least_ call and let me know you’re not gonna be home for supper or something?” Charley bellowed.

   “Ma? Is that you?” Alley deadpanned, earning an indignant huff on the other end.

   “I can see now why your mom worries to death over you,” Charley grunted. “You don’t even have a phone! Where are you calling from? And what’s the matter?”

   Alley sighed and rubbed her temple. “It’s a long story. To make it short…” She took a deep breath. “I’m still at the college and Limburger showed up ‘cause he’s after the land and he saw your truck and I’m pretty sure he cut the brake line and I’m calling you from my friend’s phone to ask if you can please come pick me up ‘cause I’m really kinda _freaking out_ right now,” she said in a rush.

   There was a moment of silence. Then, “ _What?_ ”

   “I _said_ —”

   “I _heard_ what you said. Are you okay? Is he still there?” Charley’s voice radiated genuine concern.

   To her horror, Alley felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes, her emotions dangerously unstable. “No, he’s gone,” she replied, voice trembling despite her best efforts to steady it. “He drove off in that hideous car. His thugs are gone, too.”

   “You said you’re with someone?”

   “Yeah. His name is Christopher Archer.” Alley sniffed and swiped impatiently at her tearing eyes. “He and his sister were hanging out with me today and showing me around. They’re really nice.” She flashed a watery smile at a concerned Chris.

   “Listen, go back inside the school and wait, okay? I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

   “I think…” Alley bit her lip. “He saw me at the truck. I think he’s suspicious about who I am. I’m pretty sure it was you he was aiming to murder.”

   Charley muttered a curse under her breath. “Well, he’d figure it out one of these days anyhow. Just … go inside, and if he shows up again, hide until we get there.”

   “We?”

   Charley chuckled. “The guys overheard. Big ears and all. You won’t keep them away even if you tried. So maybe lose your friends before we show up, yeah?”

   “Yeah, okay. I’ll be in the Atrium. It’s the small two-story near the back of the property.” Alley ended the call and handed the phone back to Chris. “Look, thanks for all your help. You’ve been so great. My cousin is on her way, so if you want to take off now, I promise I won’t be offended or anything.”

   “Pfft. Right. I’m just gonna leave you by yourself after all that?” He shook his head. “Not happening. Come on, we’ll go to the Atrium like you said. I don’t know about you, but I could use something to drink!”

   “Hey now, Mr. Dean’s Son. Aren’t you a little young to be imbibing in alcohol?” She gave him a teasing poke in the side.

   “Who said anything about alcohol, old lady,” he teased back. “There’s a vending machine that sells fantastic hot chocolate. I could really go for a cup. How about you?”

   “In the middle of an August heat wave? On top of all that hot food we just ate?” Alley shrugged. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

   The chocolate _was_ good, and Alley savored every sip of it as her jangled nerves slowly calmed, but no matter what she said, she couldn’t talk Chris into leaving her alone. Part of her was annoyed (she wasn’t a little girl, for cripe’s sake), but a larger part was relieved by his persistence. She doubted the Purple People Eater would be back, but she felt safer having someone by her side. Even if that someone _was_ essentially a perfect stranger.

   Half an hour passed, and Alley spent the time curled up on a cushy sofa, paging through her text books as Chris delved back into his novel. It was quiet, with only a few students hanging around the Atrium. That’s why, when the front doors suddenly burst open with an ear-jarring clatter, Alley just about jumped out of her skin, nearly falling off the couch and dropping her book in the process.

   She looked up, wide-eyed, as a tall, slender man dressed in head-to-toe black strode through the doors, paused to look around, and then honed in on her. He headed right for her, head encased in an oddly-shaped biker helmet. She started to panic, wondering if Limburger had sent someone back for her after all, before she caught a gleam of reflected light, saw the long, metal tail lashing behind him. She relaxed, recognizing him. _Stoker._

   She didn’t know where he’d dug up the leather biker clothes, but it was astonishing how _different_ he looked in them. Without the fur and mousy features to distract her, she could appreciate for the first time how built he was, the dark material hugging his lean, muscled body. He moved with purpose, strides smooth and graceful, like a dancer. A traitorous thought worked its way into her mind that, under all the fur, he was really kind of _beautiful_. And she wondered if all of the mice had such beautiful forms. She hastily banished the thoughts from her mind.

   Chris had put himself between her and the agitated mouse, nearly a head shorter, but still determined to protect her as he faced down the intimidating figure. “Who’re you?” he growled, voice cracking just a bit.

   Stoker just chuckled.

   Alley’s eyes widened when she saw Chris’s hand clench, quickly scrambling up from her seat to grip his arm. She didn’t even want to _think_ of what might happen if he took a swing at the war veteran. She didn’t think Stoker would hurt him, but then again, he was a trained soldier. He might not take kindly to physical violence. “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s a friend … of my cousin.”

   Chris relaxed by degrees, his fist unclenching.

   “Where’s Charley?” Alley asked the mouse, who hadn’t bothered to take off his helmet. All the same, she could feel his gaze on her, assessing.

   “She’s looking over the truck with the others,” he finally replied, voice muffled behind his helmet. “I came to find you. You okay?”

   “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.” She flashed a bright smile, and turned to Chris. “Look, thanks for _everything_ today. I mean it. It was _so_ nice meeting you and Chex. I hope I’ll see you around, once classes start."

   Chris’s gaze slid away from Stoker and he offered a weak grin. “Yeah, same here,” he replied. “We’ll do this again. You know, when things get a little less crazy around here.”

   “Definitely.” Alley squeezed his hand. “Tell Chex I’ll call her sometime. When I get a phone, that is. Maybe you can both come with, help me pick one out? You can show me around Chicago or something, too. And I can buy you lunch like I promised.”

   Chris chuckled, sounding nervous as Stoker cleared his throat and crossed his arms, impatient. “Sounds good. Well…” He shifted, casting an uncomfortable glance at the tense, black-clad man. “Your family’s here, so guess you don’t need me around anymore. Take care, yeah? Hope I’ll hear from you soon. I’m gonna grab another cup of chocolate and head back to the dorm.” He gave an awkward grin, a polite nod to Stoker, and then he turned and walked off.

   Alley released a breath and picked up her bag, cradling her books to her chest. She turned to leave, and jumped when a heavy arm abruptly settled around her shoulders, as Stoker led her gently but assertively out of the building. “Hey, do you mind?” she hissed, red-faced, as she caught the stares of the few remaining students in the building. She tried to balk, but Stoker was stronger than he looked. “I _know_ where the parking lot is.”

   He didn’t answer. His hand merely tightened on her arm, leading her away from the Atrium, and then off the walk and into the darker shadows cast by a towering oak. Only then did he remove his helmet, and she was taken aback by the genuine worry etched across his features. “Are you _okay_?” he repeated, his voice soft. “Did he lay hands on you in any way?” Under the concern, she heard simmering anger, and she shifted uncomfortably.

   “He didn’t even get out of the car,” she mumbled, looking away from his intense gaze. “It was his thugs that killed the truck.”

   “But he saw you _at_ the truck? You sure he knows you’re associated with us?”

   “I was headed right for it. The lot’s pretty much empty.” Alley shrugged. “I doubt he could mistake which car I was aiming for.”

   He sighed, running his hand over her hair in a soft caress. “Sorry, honey. Looks like you might be involved in this war now, like it or not.” He quirked a grin. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into runnin’ back to Florida now, can I?” He chuckled at the look she gave him. “Didn’t think so.”

   Alley, uncomfortable with his proximity, not to mention the way he kept looking at her, stepped out from under his hand and continued to the parking lot, where she found Charley and the three other mice hooking the pickup onto the back of her tow truck.

   “Alley Cat!” Charley handed the winch to Vinnie and threw her arms around her cousin. “You okay, kid?” she asked. “You sounded really upset on the phone.”

   “Yeah, a little shaken up, I guess.” Alley offered a small smile. “I’m okay now. Chris stayed with me until you came. He’s a really nice guy.”

   “Do tell.” Charley raised an eyebrow with a catty smirk. “Not even started classes yet and already have the boys wrapped around your finger.”

   “Well, _that’s_ nothing new,” Alley replied, earning a laugh from her cousin as she clambered into the passenger seat of the tow truck and leaned out the window. “Was there really any need to bring the entire army?” She gestured to the mice.

   “They were worried. And who knows if Limburger would come back and wait for me to show up, if I really was the target. No sense taking chances.” Pickup secured, Charley climbed into the driver’s seat. “Okay, guys. Let’s head back now. Thanks for coming out with me.”

   “Not a problem, Charley-girl,” Throttle replied. “Glad you’re not hurt, Alley.” He smiled up at her, gave a signal, and the four bikes took off down the road with the tow truck following close behind.

 


	11. Eleven

    Naturally, the mice did not take kindly to their Charley-girl’s life being threatened, and they showed their displeasure by promptly storming Limburger’s tower and blowing it up.

    When the city shook from the impact of a hundred-thousand tons of steel and brick meeting the ground head-on, Alley shrieked and dove for cover under the desk. Charley, in the midst of replacing her damaged brake line, just rolled her eyes and kept right on working. "It's not an earthquake," she said blandly. "It's just the guys showing Limburger their appreciation."

    "By taking out half the city?" Alley crawled out from under the desk, frowning at the smears of grease now staining her skirt.

    "Don’t worry. Over the years, they’ve turned toppling that tower into something of a fine art. The destructive radius barely passes a hundred feet in any direction anymore.”

    Alley blinked at her. “I don’t know if that should impress me or make me run screaming for the hills.”

    Charley laughed. “Better go throw some dogs on the stove. And pull a few packs of root beer out of the fridge, will ya? They'll be completely hyped when they get back."

    “And feeding them carbs and sugar is your solution to calming them down, huh?”

    Charley just smirked and flipped a wrench in her hand, laying back on the platform dolly and scooting under the truck. Alley sighed and shook her head. “Call me a nut, but wouldn’t destroying Limburger’s property sort of … I dunno … royally _piss him off_?”

    "Definitely,” came the muffled reply. “But it'll also keep him busy and out of our hair for at least a week.” She reappeared and sat up, holding the ruined brake line tubing. “It’ll buy us some time to scout around and find out what he's up to.”

    “It only takes a week to rebuild an entire skyscraper?”

    Charley pressed her palms flat against each other and bowed her head. “As blowing up the tower has become an art form, so has Limburger turned _rebuilding_ it into one.”

    Alley tipped back her head. “It’s the ciiiirrrcle of liiiiife!” she sang dramatically, throwing out her arm and gliding to the stairs, earning a bark of laughter from her cousin.

    “Go boil some hotdogs, you nut!”

* * *

    True to word, the boys were practically vibrating with adrenaline when they roared into the garage fifteen minutes later. Vinnie screeched to a stop with his signature howl of victory, hurling his helmet across the room. It sailed dangerously close to Charley’s computer, slammed into a nearby stack of tire rims and sent them crashing to the floor in a cacophony of scattering steel.

    “Vinnie! Dial it down a notch, you macho lunkhead!” Charley snapped, throwing the wrench she was holding at him. “You almost took out my computer! And pick those rims up!”

    “Eh, sorry, Sweetheart. Got a little carried away.” He offered a grin and a sheepish chuckle, hastily moving to clean up his mess.

    A few seconds later, Alley skittered down the stairway, holding a pair of tongs and looking around with wide eyes. “What the _hell_ is all the racket? Are we under attack?”

    “The boys are home.” If Charley’s voice got any drier, she’d start spitting sand.

    “I see that.” A pause. “Was someone _howling_ just now?”

    Modo snickered. “Nah. That was just Vinnie.”

    “His way of showin’ the world what a bad mammajamma he is,” Stoker added with a wicked smirk.

    “Oh.” Alley pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Because, for a second there, I thought maybe the garage was being overrun by feral dogs or something.”

    Charley put a fist to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her amusement. The other three mice didn’t even attempt to try, and Vinnie glared at them, readying himself for an old-fashioned throw-down.

    “Don’t you _dare_ ,” Charley warned before the white mouse had a chance to pounce. “My garage is _not_ a wrestling ring. Take it outside!”

    “Ah, forget it.” Vinnie deflated, pouting. “I’m starvin’! Where’re the dogs ‘n beer?”

    “They’re cooking upstairs.” Alley turned, then hesitated, shooting him a questioning glance over her shoulder. “Do you really howl like that every time you take out Limburger’s tower?”

    “And for any other reason he can think up,” Charley snorted.

    “It’s my battle cry!” Vinnie sniffed, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from his arm. “Every superhero needs a battle cry.”

    “And ‘cowabunga’ was already taken,” Throttle quipped.

    Alley nodded, her expression serious. “It’s just … you know … the guys who yelp the loudest, Vinster,” she reminded him with a sigh, continuing on her way.

    Vinnie’s jaw dropped. He sputtered uselessly for a comeback, gaping at her retreating back. Modo and Stoker guffawed, Charley buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

    And Throttle just stood there looking confused, wondering what the hell was suddenly so funny.

* * *

    The rest of the week passed in relative peace.

    Well, as peaceful as it ever got around the Last Chance, anyway. Alley soon learned that the mice never seemed to be happy unless they were making as much racket as possible. “Quiet as a mouse” did not apply to the Martian variety. While Charley seemed perfectly content to let them cohabit her garage, blaring the rock stations at levels that could only be described as “deafening”, Alley took it upon herself to invest in a bottle of aspirin and some good ear plugs. She wondered at first how _they_ didn’t go deaf, what with ears as large and sensitive as theirs, before chalking it up to their overall weirdness.

    Since the guys were always _at_ the garage more than they weren’t (well, the trio was; Stoker came and went as he pleased, and Charley didn’t appear to give a hoot about that, either), it gave Alley a good chance to observe them. While Vinnie was always flapping his mouth and up to no good, the other two mice were far more reserved in their behavior. Especially Throttle. While they all joked around and roughhoused a lot, he tended to be a little more careful and reigned in the other two when they got too carried away. He must have been their leader of sorts, since they always deferred to him and fell in line when he told them to. Unless Stoker was around. All three of them deferred to Stoker, and it was clear the older mouse was well-respected as a mentor and a war hero.

    One thing Alley could say about the guys; they all had a very well-developed sense of self-preservation. At least when it came to females, and Charley especially. They seemed able to tune in to the times when the mechanic was extra stressed trying to finish a particular job, and her patience was close to the snapping point. That was generally the time they herded each other out the door to “patrol the city” for awhile. Which Alley suspected was code for getting out of the way before her cousin could strangle them with their own tails. Either way, she certainly did appreciate the rare times of peace and quiet their absence bought.

    Unfortunately, this particular Friday morning was _not_ one of those times.

    Almost an entire week, and she was still trying to get the mess of Charley’s paperwork sorted out. A job she’d thought would only take a day or two was taking a heck of a lot longer than that. And the blaring hard rock that was slowly driving a small railroad spike through her skull certainly didn't make it easier to concentrate.

    The cordless phone on the desk rang, and she answered it while making a beeline for the large boombox sitting on its makeshift shelf beside the garage door. Ignoring everyone's protests, she turned the volume down to a more reasonable level before returning to the desk to arrange customer's appointment. From the corner of her eye, she noted Throttle sneakily reaching for the volume control. "Excuse me for one moment, Sir," she said politely into the receiver. Covering the mouthpiece with her palm, she mustered her fiercest glare and snarled, “ _Throttle_. If you _touch_ that dial, so help me, I’ll _rip_ your fingers off one by one and stuff ‘em up your _ass_.”

    The others chortled loudly as Throttle raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing away from the radio with a raised eyebrow. “ _Sorry_ , princess,” he muttered, giving Vinnie a swat with his tail when the white mouse cheered, and staggered a little as Modo gave him a “friendly” clout across the back.

    “Having some problems there, Alley Cat?” Charley teased, eyes sparkling with humor.

    Alley took a deep breath and pasted a saccharine smile on her lips. “Thank you for holding, Mr. Anderson,” she told the waiting customer sweetly. “To confirm, your car will be brought in for inspection at nine AM this coming Wednesday. Are you planning to drop it off, or do you wish to wait?” She paused. “No, sir, the Last Chance doesn’t provide shuttling service, but a taxi can be called for you. There is also a bus route three blocks away. Yes. That will be fine. Thank you for choosing the Last Chance Garage. We’ll see you on Wednesday.” She hung up the phone and sighed, shooting her cousin an exasperated glance. “Did you get all that?”

    “Yep. State inspection. Wednesday. Nine o'clock,” Charley grunted, struggling to loosen a nut from part of an engine. “There’re some Post-its in the drawer. Jot it down for me, will ya?”

    “Oh, _hell_ no.” Alley glared at her. “The jotting of appointments on sticky notes stops _now_ , you hear me? It’s unprofessional and half the notes end up falling into the garbage anyway! You are, without a doubt, the most _unorganized_ computer genius I've ever known. How have you managed to not tank your own business in all these years?”

    "What can I say? It’s a gift." Charley pulled a face at her.

    "Well, here’s a much _better_ gift." Alley waved a brown leather book in the air. "See this? Say hello to your new best friend. All of your appointments are sorted and logged into this ledger. Your assignment is to actually _use_ it."

    Charley’s brow furrowed. "I do have an appointment ledger, you know."

    "If you’re talking about that greasy, torn up notebook I found buried in the bottom of your desk drawer, I threw it out. You haven’t written any actual appointments in it for the past six months, anyway.”

    Charley shot her a dry look. “I don’t recall making you the supervisor. When did you get so bossy?”

    “I’d say during the week I just spent attempting to salvage your pitiful excuse of a business practice,” Alley deadpanned.

    “Oooooh. Burned!” Vinnie sang softly under his breath.

    Charley shot him an irritated glance. “Don’t you have something to go blow up?” she grumbled.

    “You shouldn’t criticize her, anyway,” Alley added. “ _You’re_ all part of the problem.” She raised a hand to halt the immediate protests. “Charley, when is the last time you tried to organize your finances? I mean, have you even looked at the balances in the past year? Hell, the past three years?”

    “Of course I have! That’s the one thing I _did_ keep up with. I’m not a complete moron, you know.”

    Alley pursed her lips and folded her hands atop the desk. “Then you’re fully aware that the Last Chance is just barely keeping afloat. You’ve managed to keep your finances in the green, but you hardly pull in enough extra for basic living expenses. The only thing saving you is that you own this building outright. But you still have property taxes, the highest electric bill I’ve ever seen, you’re making payments on some of this equipment yet … and every month that line between success and bankruptcy is narrowing further and further. I see you’ve had to dip into your savings on several occasions just to make ends meet.”

    “Is this true, Charley-ma'am?” Modo wanted to know. All three mice were listening, concern etched on their faces. “You in trouble?”

    “No!” Charley protested, while at the same time Alley stated, “Yes.”

    Charley rubbed her temple, looking irritated, and just a little defeated. “I guess … things are a little tight, financial-wise,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t really concern you, though, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

    “Except it _does_ concern them.”

    “Alley!” Charley glared at her. “Stop it.”

    “No. Let her talk.” Throttle’s voice left no room for argument. “Are you sayin’ it’s our fault?”

    “Partly.” Alley shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. “And Limburger is at fault, too,” she added. “He's the reason this part of the city is all but abandoned. I don’t imagine that’s helped business, any. But he’s not responsible for a lot of the damage and repair that’s been done on the garage in the past few years, is he?” She tapped the computer monitor. “The garage doors had to be replaced how many times? I mean, not just worn-out parts, the whole, entire doors. Who kept putting giant holes in them?”

    “Um…” The trio glanced at each other, uneasy.

    “That’s why I had the automatic sensors installed,” Charley cut in.

    “And there’s also the matter of all the … upgrades done to your bikes. Specialized parts to be ordered in and … I don’t even know what else.” Alley fixed the mice with a questioning glance. “Has it even once occurred to you to ask where those upgraded parts come from? Or did you just assume she farts 'em out her ass on command?”

    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alley!” Charley threw her hands in the air. Her face was suspiciously red. “It’s not their problem, so don’t involve them! I _volunteered_ to take care of their bikes. It was entirely _my_ decision.”

    “And it’s costing _your garage_ way more money than you can actually afford right now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often they just help themselves to stock off the shelves when they’re maintaining those bikes, either. More money out of your very shallow pocket.”

    “Can I see the figures?” Throttle asked, stepping forward. Charley started to protest, but he ignored her as Alley scooted away from the desk to let him look at the spreadsheet. He studied it for a few minutes, face expressionless.

    Charley glowered at her cousin. “You’re fired,” she muttered.

    Alley waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Fire me. But it would've caught up to you eventually. I don’t get what you were trying to accomplish by keeping it from them, anyway. Why shouldn’t they know?”

    Charley sighed heavily, perching on the end of the desk. “Because … they’ve done so much for this city. And for me. I told you, without them, things would be going a lot worse with the Plutarkians. Chicago owes them a huge debt, and doesn’t even know it. I’m just … doing what little I can to repay them for their efforts. There was no need to let them in on how much it was costing me.”

    "Did you think we'd be happy if we ended up tanking your business, or mad if ya told us we were eatin' yer profits?" Modo scolded. "You oughta know better 'n that."

    "Yeah, Sweetheart, we woulda paid ya or somethin'," Vinnie put in, sounding hurt.

    "And how would you manage that, huh? Go out and get yourselves a nine-to-five?" Charley snorted. "You guys ain't exactly rollin' in cash."

    Nobody could argue with that. Alley shook her head. “You could pay her in physical labor, you know. Help her out with the garage, take some of the workload off. If she had more than just herself to finish jobs, she could take on more customers, and bring in more money.”

    “Yeah, but … we’re no wrench jockeys,” Vinnie grumbled. “An’ Charley-girl won’t let us near the equipment, anyway.”

    “That’s because you always blow up anything you touch,” Charley snapped.

    “So, teach them,” Alley said with exaggerated patience. “Start them off with simple stuff. Like motorcycles. They’re always tinkering around with theirs. An Earth bike isn’t that different, is it? Start with that and go from there.”

    Charley sighed. "I'll think about it, okay? But even if they did help, it's not gonna bring more customers or money in any faster, you know."

    "That's because you don't _advertise_."

    "Last I checked, advertising costs money, which we've already established I don't _have_."

    "Well, how have you been getting business?" Alley asked.

    "Mostly through word-of-mouth. And most of my customers have been with me since I opened the place. The ones Limburger hasn't managed to drive out of the neighborhood, anyway."

    “Which is great, but new business would be even better. We’ll have to think up some advertising schemes. Maybe print out some cheap fliers and post them around the city? Coffee shops, grocery stores; places like that usually have notice boards where you can tack stuff up, and it doesn’t cost anything. Maybe a small ad in the Sunday paper, or, I dunno, those paper place-mats they use to advertise in diners and stuff. There are ways to get more business.”

    “Great,” Charley sighed, defeated. “Just what I need. More work.”

    “You _do_ need more work. And you need more help. And you’ve got three perfectly able-bodied me—um—mice who can give you some, if you’re willing to let them.” Alley considered. “Four, if you count Stoker. Where is that guy, anyway? I haven’t seen him since Wednesday.”

    “Probably in one of his secret labs,” Throttle replied, straightening up, finished with his perusal of Charley’s files. “He prefers to work alone.”

    “He has secret labs? What is he, a mad scientist?”

    He chuckled. “Something like that. Don’t ask us what he’s cookin’ up, though. He’s pretty hush-hush about the whole thing.”

    “Sounds like him, all right.” Charley smiled fondly. “Always the lone wolf, that one.”

    Throttle fixed her with a look. “You sure aren’t one to criticize, Miss My-garage-is-going-under-but-damned-if-I-ask-for-any-help.”

    “Okay, okay. No need to rub it in,” Charley grumbled. “I just didn’t want to make you guys worry about me, that’s all. You tend to get all protective and you hover. It’s annoying.”

    “Biker Mice do _not_ ‘hover’,” Vinnie sniffed, crossing his arms.

    “Oh, you _so_ hover. Like a little mother hen.” Charley shot him a teasing glance.

    Vinnie looked to Alley for help, but she just shrugged. “Hey, leave me out of it. She’s right. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how one of you guys followed us every time we had to leave the garage this week. We even made fake trips just to see who’d be next in line to tail us. You were _totally_ hovering.”

    “Oh, yeah, that reminds me. You owe me five bucks.” Charley nudged her shoulder. “I said Throttle would be the one to follow you to the bank yesterday, and he did.”

    “Damn. Thanks a lot, Throttle.” Alley pulled a wadded bill out of her wallet and tossed it to her grinning cousin while the mice gaped at them.

    The bell went off just then, effectively bringing the conversation to a halt. The mice quickly scattered, heading back to their bikes to don protective helmets as the huge door slowly rolled up, revealing a very beat-up Chevy Caprice idling on the other side. The classic car was painted two-tone blue, at least where the large spots of rust didn’t cover the body. After a moment, the engine turned off, the doors opened, and Christopher Archer unfolded himself from the driver’s seat as his sister hopped out of the passenger’s side. “Uh, is there an Alley Davidson around?” he asked uncertainly, looking highly doubtful.

    “Guys!” Alley hopped up from the chair and trotted to them, grinning widely. “What’re you doing here? Come for some service?”

    Chris relaxed, tossing her a lopsided grin. “Actually, we came to kidnap you for the day. Got plans?”

    “Uh…” Alley looked at her cousin, who smirked and shooed her off. “Guess not. Great! I need to go phone shopping, and I thought you guys can help me out, yeah?” She turned to Chex, who had spotted the trio of gleaming bikes a few feet away and had honed in on them and their furry owners with predatory interest. Alley watched her watching them. “Hey, you okay?”

    “Yeah, sure,” Chex mumbled, taking a few steps closer. The mice looked at each other, fidgeting nervously under the unexpected scrutiny.

    “Don’t mind her. She’s got a major thing for bikers,” Chris snorted, rolling his eyes.

    Chex ignored him, reaching out to trace a finger along the mouse-shaped headlamp gracing the front of Modo’s bike. The big mouse drew himself up, prepared to defend his precious ride … but she didn’t give him the chance.

    “Holy _shit_!” she suddenly shouted, startling everyone into jumping and Vinnie into dropping the wrench he’d been holding. “Holy shit, holy _shit_!” She gave a few excited little hops, turned to slug her brother in the arm. “I _told_ you!” she exclaimed over his pained yelp. “I _told_ you they were real!”

    “What’s real? What the hell’s _wrong_ with you, you psycho?” Chris snapped, rubbing his abused bicep.

    “It’s _them_!” Chex gestured wildly. “You know, _them_! I _told_ you! They’re real! I didn’t make it up, those alien mice dudes really exist and they’re standing _right over there_!”

    There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Vinnie, in two words, said exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.

    “Aww, _cheese_.”  



	12. Twelve

   There was a drawn-out silence as the mice and Chex sized each other up. After a moment, Throttle cleared his throat, stepping forward. "I'm sure you must be mistaken, Citizen," he began, attempting nonchalance. "We're just three normal bros, getting our bikes looked over by—"

   "Oh, give it up," Chex snorted, crossing her arms. "I'm not an idiot. There's nothing wrong with my eyeballs. And those helmets don't render you invisible, so you might as well take 'em off. I don't know who you think you're fooling. If alien mice doesn't explain all the fur, then my next guess is the evolutionary Missing Link. Or very short Yeti."

   Alley stifled a laugh, and Throttle shot her an annoyed glance as he slowly pulled his helmet off. Vinnie and Modo followed his lead.

   "Well, damn," Chris said softly, eyes wide.

   "Told you," Chex replied, looking smug. She practically vibrated where she stood, she was so excited. "Man, I can't believe they've been here all this time. The club's gonna _flip_ when I tell 'em I got to see them face to face!"

   "Club?" Throttle repeated, frowning.

   "It's some little forum she joined," Chris explained. "For people who think they've been abducted by aliens or some weird shit like that."

   "Shut it, butt-head." Chex delivered another punch to his arm. "That's _not_ what the club's about." She turned back to the mice. "You've saved a lot of people in Chicago since you've been here, right? Well, some of those people started an online forum to socialize and share experiences. Hypothesize about why you're even _here_. Stuff like that."

   "And … you're one of those people," Throttle guessed.

   "Sure am." Chex nodded at Modo. "Big Gray there saved my life awhile back."

   The mouse straightened, startled by the sudden attention. "The name's Modo," he corrected. "Modo Maverick."

   "Maverick, huh?" Her smile widened. "I like that. Totally a hero's name."

   Modo beamed as Vinnie whistled and nudged him in the side.

   "So what happened to you?" Charley wanted to know.

   "There was some big skirmish downtown about three years ago. Felt like an earthquake or something. Total chaos, people running around, screaming like a buncha lunatics… And I remember there was this really weird whining. Sounded kinda like a drill, but deeper and a _lot_ louder."

   "Hey, I remember that!" Vinnie cut in. "Wasn't that when Limburger decided he was gonna dig under the big shopping center?"

   "Yeah, he was lookin' for something. Anybody ever figure out what that was?" Modo asked, scratching his head.

   "Who cares? He goes out an' makes with the boom-boom, we go in an' stop 'im. That's all we need ta know." Vinnie punched his fist into his palm with a wicked grin.

   Chex huffed. "Yeah, well, I happened to be _in_ that shopping center when it was all goin' down. Everything was crumbling around me and all the exits were getting blocked off. Some guy bowled me over, and I got my leg pinned. I was trying to pull free, and then these loud cracks went off right over my head. Sounded like a buncha gunshots. I thought someone had opened fire on top of everything else. So I looked up, and the freakin' _wall's_ about to topple over." She shuddered, rubbing her arms. "I won't _ever_ forget what that felt like, watching that slab of concrete falling in slo-mo right on top of me."

   "So what then?" Alley asked, wide-eyed.

   "Well, I sure wasn't goin' anywhere. When that asshole shoved me, I fell into the rubble and knocked something loose. Big chunk fell right on top of me. My leg was good and pinned. Hurt like hell, too. I just sorta buried my head in my arms and _prayed_ I'd die quick, and I wouldn't end up buried alive or be laying there in agony for days wondering if anyone'd find me. I might've screamed, I guess. I don't really remember." Chex shrugged. "Someone heard something, though, 'cause when I figured out I still wasn't dead, that's when I looked back up and saw this huge gray … _person_ standing over me, hefting that slab of concrete like a piece of paper. Just tossed it aside with his bare hands! And then he grabbed the big chunks pinning me down and tossed them, too. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and there was all this fur and metal and big ears … and then he started _talking_ to me, asking if I was okay. And all _I_ remember thinking is he was the biggest damned hamster I'd _ever_ seen."

   "Aw, c'mon!" Vinnie protested, tossing his hands in the air. "They never get it right! Why don't they ever get it right?"

   "We're mice, ma'am. Just for future reference," Modo rumbled, mouth quirking.

   "Well, sure, I can see that _now_ ," Chex snorted. "Waddaya want? I'd just lived through my first near-death experience. Sorry if I was a little _delirious_."

   "Least you didn't call him a rat," Alley teased. "They _hate_ that."

   Modo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Seems I recall findin' a little girl pinned down, 'bout to be squashed flat. Your leg was busted up pretty bad, wasn't it? I pulled ya loose an' dropped you off at the ambulance outside. You were bleedin' out pretty heavily."

   "Yeah." Chex nodded. "The femur bone was snapped in two places. And my tibia was broken so badly the bone ripped clean through the skin. Scary shit. I ended up in surgery and the hospital for two months, a full-leg cast another two months after that. Took a lot of therapy just so I could walk again, too." She pulled up her ripped legging, showing off a long, jagged scar that started at the middle of her calf and ran up under the material covering her upper leg. "Ends at the thigh. Pretty cool, huh?" she said proudly.

   Modo whistled. "Impressive battle scar. You doin' okay now?"

   "Sure. Leg still aches when the weather changes, and I won't ever win any marathons or anything, but I can walk, and even more importantly, I'm not a greasy smear on the pavement." Chex approached him, gray eyes searching his face as she took his metal hand into both of hers. He blinked down at her, nonplussed; it wasn't often a human _willingly_ touched him, after all. "Like I said, I was really out of it back then, and I don't even remember if I thanked you," she told him sincerely. "So I'm saying it now. Thank you, Modo Maverick. You're a really good person. And I'm glad I can tell you that face to face."

   Modo squirmed, ignoring the catcalls and whistles from his comrades as he smiled awkwardly down at her, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, it wasn't anything, ma'am," he mumbled, flustered. "Just doin' my job and all that."

   Chex seemed to recall their audience then, quickly dropping his hand and stepping back, hooking her thumbs through the belt loops of her checkered skirt with a self-conscious shrug. "Yeah, well, just sayin'. Thanks," she mumbled, ducking her head. Her face was nearly as red as her hair. After a moment, she straightened up, affecting her usual aloof attitude. "Anyway. That's how I found out about alien mice. I had to know who you _were_ , so while I was recovering, I started searching around on the net, looking for … I dunno, info on mutant rodents in the subways or something." She smirked at Vinnie's snort of disgust. "That's when I found the forum, and figured out there were others who'd been saved by giant talking, bike-riding mice, and there it is."

   "And there it is. Gotta love social media. So much for _covert operations_."

   All eyes turned to the black-clad figure coasting into the garage on a sleek black racer, taking in the scene from behind the visor of a wing-eared helmet.

   Chris straightened up, surprised. "Hey! You're—"

   "Yep. _I'm_ ," Stoker grunted, pulling the helmet off to meet his gaze with shrewd eyes. "And you're the whelp who stuck with our Alley Cat the other night. Thanks for that, kid."

   "The _name_ is Chris. Christopher Archer. And my sister is Constance."

   "Chex. Call me Constance and I'll be forced to cut your tongue out," the redhead mumbled. " _Cool_ bike, by the way. That's like … super stealth bike or something. I didn't even hear the engine."

   "That's 'cause I turned it off," Stoker said with a chuckle, dismounting and rolling the bike over to Charley. "She needs a checkup, if you get the chance. Maybe some oil. Had a bit of a bumpy ride gettin' back."

   "Run into some problems?" Charley asked.

   "Just a few random goons out lookin' for trouble. Nothin' I couldn't handle. But they did get in a few shots to my ride here. Think one of 'em might've taken out the suspension."

   "Poor baby. I'll have you fixed right up," Charley crooned, petting the dusty crankshaft affectionately. And damned if the bike didn't rumble right back.

   Alley blinked. "Did … did that thing just _purr_ at you?"

   Charley laughed. "I did tell you Martian bikes are equipped with AI, right?"

   "Uh, yeah, I seem to recall something about that. I just didn't—They actually _respond_ to you? Like, they can understand what you say?" Alley looked the bike over with new appreciation.

   "That _is_ the general definition of artificial intelligence," Charley deadpanned.

   "Wow. Real AI. How cool is _that_?" Chex crouched in front of Modo's bike. "Hey, if you can understand me, honk or something."

   There was a moment of silence. Then a short, sharp beep sounded, startling Chex into falling back onto her rear. She gaped for a second, then laughed. "That is _wicked_! Where can I get one?"

   "Forget it, Short Stack. Dad'll never let you get a motorcycle," Chris scoffed.

   "I'm eighteen. He doesn't really have a say in the matter," she tossed back, hopping to her feet. "Hey, will you give me a ride?" She grinned up at Modo, who sputtered for a response.

   "Chex, we're here to see _Alley_ , remember?" Chris sighed.

   "Oh, well, she could come along."

   Alley's eyes widened. "Uhhh … no thanks. I've _seen_ how these guys drive those things around. I'm rather attached to my life. I'd like to _keep_ it, if it's all the same to you."

   Chex laughed. "Wuss."

   "If by 'wuss' you mean 'possessing a healthy dose of self-preservation', then yes. I am a huge wuss," she sniffed, smoothing down her skirt.

   Beside her, Stoker chuckled low in his throat. "We'll have to work on that," he murmured, smirking down at her.

   She pulled a face at him. "Where the hell have _you_ been skulking around, anyway?"

   "You miss me? I'm touched." He flashed a cheeky grin.

   "Yeah, sure." She waved him off. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

   "Aw, honey, go easy on an old mouse's ego."

   "Sir, your ego is indomitable. I'm sure nothing _I_ say will make a dent," she huffed, a smile twitching around her lips despite her best efforts to remain stern.

   He noticed, leaning in with a sly smile, eyes lidded as he prepared to turn up the charm.

   Only Alley suddenly wasn't there anymore, having been pulled out from under his nose by Chris's grip on her arm. He straightened, glaring at the intruder. "You mind? We were having a private conversation."

   Chris winced at the venom in his tone but, as before, refused to back down. He turned to Alley. "Listen, Chex and I have to be back at the dorms in a few hours. We promised our parents we'd have dinner with them tonight."

   " _You_ promised them," Chex corrected.

   He ignored her. "Anyway, if you wanted to go shopping for a new phone, maybe have something to eat and do a little sightseeing downtown, we'd probably better leave soon."

   "Oh. Sure, lemme go grab my purse. It's upstairs," Alley replied, shooting him a grateful smile as she turned to flee the garage.

   "Cock-blocked!" Vinnie sang under his breath as soon as she left, earning himself a whack across the head by Stoker's palm and muffled sniggers from Modo and Throttle.

   "And _speaking_ of phones…" Stoker's tail whipped around and plucked the smartphone Chex had been using to covertly snap pictures neatly from her fingers. "Ah-ah. None of that now," he scolded, not unkindly, as he browsed the files.

   "Hey!" she yelped. "Give that back! What're you doing?"

   "Just a little damage control." He navigated the touch screen with ease before tossing the gadget back to her.

   She hastily checked it over, jaw dropping. "You deleted them! You deleted _everything_! All of my info … my _videos_! Do you know how hard it was to _get_ some of this stuff?" she lamented.

   "I'm sorry for your loss," Stoker deadpanned, not looking sorry in the least. "No offense, Red, but I don't fancy having our ruggedly handsome mugs plastered all over the internet. Makes it real hard to work when you've got people out hunting you down for a celebrity snapshot. Kindly refrain from future endeavors."

   Chex pouted. "What's wrong with wanting to show Chicago that we've got our very own superheroes protecting us from the mafia? The cops sure as hell don't do anything about it."

   "Oh. Uh…" Alley offered a sheepish grin as she descended the stairs, having overheard the conversation. "Yeah, about that mafia story I fed you…"

   Chex's eyes widened. "No way. Is _Limburger_ an alien, too?"

   "Something like that."

   "Awesome!"

   "Not really, no." Alley shot her a funny look. "He's trying to strip-mine the planet, starting with Chicago. There's nothing remotely awesome about it."

   "Is that why he wants the school?" Chris asked. "He wants to rip it apart?"

   "Likely. It's sitting on a choice piece of property," Stoker grunted. "Lots of resources to ship off to Plutark."

   "Is that his planet? And that's why you guys are here. To stop him from doing it?"

   "Yep."

   "But why?" Chex asked. "I mean, this isn't your home. Why are you risking your necks for a world that doesn't even know you exist?"

   "Because the Plutarkians are a disease that need to be wiped out," Modo growled, eye glowing. "They started with our planet Mars, and nearly demolished our entire race. Earth is next on the list, and unlike Mars, it doesn't have the kind of defenses needed to beat 'em off."

   "And once they're through with this dirt ball, they'll move on to the next," Throttle added. "Just like a huge, smelly swarm of … waddaya call 'em? Locusts?"

   "We do have nuclear weapons," Chris said doubtfully.

   "Hah! The stinkfish live off that sorta thing!" Vinnie scoffed. "Toxic waste and radiation and destruction … they eat it for breakfast. A couple of nuclear bombs wouldn't even slow 'em down."

"Yeah, all you'd be doin' is helpin' em rip up the planet that much faster," Modo added, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

   The twins exchanged glances. "The government—" Chris started.

   "Is next to useless," Stoker cut him off with a snort. "They can't do anything we're not already doin'. Besides, it'll just come back to nuclear warfare and vaporizing their own planet in a useless attempt to get rid of the Plutarkians."

   "Yeah, and then they'll probably turn around an' use the same methods on _us_ ," Vinnie grumbled.

   "That's true," Charley agreed with a sigh. "I don't think Earth is ready for the knowledge that 'little green men' actually exist." She chuckled when Vinnie huffed, tweaking his ear. "Don't worry, you're all _much_ cuter than E.T.," she teased.

   "And about time you admitted it, Babe," he replied, crossing his arms smugly. But he was blushing under his fur.

   "What _I_ don't get," Alley cut in, "is how they don't already _know_. I mean, people are talking about you guys online, and Chex probably isn't the only one who's tried to take pictures and videos. Right?"

   "Oh, sure." Chex shrugged. "Media gets posted on various sites all the time. The problem is, it never _stays_ posted. It's like the moment new footage appears, the site goes _poof_ for a few minutes. When it comes back online, all the footage is gone. Happens every time. The Mouseketeers think—"

   "The _Mouseketeers_?"

   Chex laughed at the disgust written across four furry faces. "It's what the forum folk call themselves. Don't look at me like that, _I_ didn't come up with it!"

   "Well, come up with somethin' else," Vinnie grumbled. "That name's just embarrassing!"

   "Yeah, sure, I'll get right on that." Chex rolled her eyes. " _Anyway_ , the general theory is the government is responsible for getting rid of the evidence. Keep the knowledge of alien warfare happening right under our noses from getting out to the general populace. Hold off the world-wide panic it'd cause. In the meantime, hope the two species end up wiping themselves out nice and neat, and save taxpayer dollars by not having to send in our own military to finish the job."

   "And they're not at _all_ worried that two alien species with superior technology battling over our planet might end up, I dunno, completely _obliterating_ it instead?" Alley asked skeptically.

   "Hey, I _did_ say it was a theory."

   "And that's all it is," Stoker put in, shaking his head with amusement. "Sorry to burst your conspiracy bubble, but none of Earth's governments are responsible for keepin' this invasion under wraps. Mars has been monitoring your satellites for decades. Any evidence of alien species that pops up is immediately eliminated, especially Martian and Plutarkian. Can't risk having our own civilization exposed trying to save yours, after all."

   "You can't possibly silence _everyone_ who finds out about you," Chris argued. "What about the probes we send up?"

   "Bah. Inferior Earthen technology. Easily compromised," the mouse snorted. "As for the rest, well…" He tapped one of his antenna. "These ain't here just for show, ya know. We have ways."

   "What do you mean?"

   "Memory wipes," Throttle grunted, mouth twisting with distaste.

   "You can _do_ that?" Charley asked, startled. Clearly, this was news to her.

   "Not all of us," Vinnie told her. "Only a few 'specially powerful empaths are trained for that sorta thing. Ain't easy, and fiddlin' around with another person's brain is pretty frowned upon. I mean, one wrong move an' you've got a drooling vegetable on your hands."

   "Luckily we have little cause to employ such techniques," Stoker added, expression grim. "But there's been a time or two when the wrong person discovered us, and we've been forced to go in for a little … mental rewiring."

   "And by 'we', do you actually mean you?" Alley asked. Stoker didn't answer. But his silence spoke volumes. She frowned. "Have _you_ ever … made a wrong move?"

   "No," he replied firmly. "But my predecessor did, with another empathic race from the Quantrum Sector."

   "The what now?"

   "Another galaxy. You wouldn't have heard of it. That was a bad job. Pretty much the guidelines of what _not_ to do when attempting a mind-wipe. Not only scrambled the poor bastard on the receiving end, but his own brain, as well. That's when I was pulled in to take over his position by the army. This was back before the Freedom Fighters, of course. When I was just a young punk, barely older'n Rimfire." He nodded at Modo.

   "You never told us this before, Stoke," Vinnie said, sounding awed.

   "Ain't somethin' I like to talk about," he replied. "Not a part of my life I'm particularly proud of. For the greater good or not, there's no honor in wipin' another person's mind. Especially when you're never told _why_ you're doin' it in the first place. Toward the end, before I defected, I had my suspicions that the government was gettin' a little corrupt. They were sendin' us in more 'n more often to 'take care of things'. I suspect it was to keep control over an increasingly disgruntled population, when Plutark stepped in an' started buyin' up Martian property."

   "And that's why you formed the Freedom Fighters," Throttle finished.

   "Yep. That about sums it up. Somebody had to protect what was left of our people. We're all they had left."

  "Your own government sold you out?" Alley asked softly.

   "Money is power, honey. Even on other planets. Corruption is a universal problem." Stoker glanced at Chex with a raised eyebrow. "And _you_ might consider tellin' your online buddies to start bein' a little more careful what they slap up on their sites. I may not be one of the army's guard dogs anymore, but that don't mean I've forgotten what to do. And there're still more guard dogs who ain't as _nice_ as me, either. You annoy the wrong people or become a big enough threat, you just might find yourselves on the wrong end of Martian antenna."

   Chex gulped, face paling under her makeup. Even Chris looked a little green around the gills.

   "Great. Well, _now_ that you've finished terrifying my friends, I think it's time for us to go," Alley muttered, starting toward the Caprice.

   "Hold up, there!" Charley snagged her by the back of the shirt as she passed, bringing her up short. "Just so you know, you 'n me are gonna have a talk when you get back."

   "What'd _I_ do?"

   Charley shot her a look. "Guess."

   Alley's brow furrowed. "Oh, what, you're pissed 'cause I was _worried_ about you? _That's_ gratitude."

   "Do you honestly believe _that's_ why I'm upset?"

   The cousins stubbornly faced each other down, before Alley conceded defeat, shoulders slumping. "Okay, okay," she grumbled. "You can bust my chops when I get back. Just lemme get these two out of your hair first." She stomped to the twins, who were now waiting in the car.

   "What was that all about?" Chris asked as she opened the passenger door and slid in.

   "Somebody in trouble?" Chex teased from the back seat.

   Alley waved off their questions. "Don't worry about it. Right before you arrived, we were having a … _family discussion_ of sorts. I might've said a few things I shouldn't have in front of a few people I shouldn't have… She's a little steamed about it."

   Chex hummed. "Wanna hide out in the dorms for awhile until the storm blows over?" she offered. "I could probably stuff you under the bed."

   Alley laughed. "Thanks, but I'll take my licks like a good little soldier, and pray Charley doesn't decide to send me packing back to Florida."

   They drove in silence for a few minutes, before Chex leaned forward, draping her gloved arms over the back of the bench seat. "Hey, you think that Stoker guy was serious about the whole, you know, mind-wipe thing?" she asked.

   Alley shrugged, poking through the cassette tapes Chris had stashed in a worn shoebox on the seat between them. "Dunno why he'd lie about it. He's a trained soldier, and from what I've heard, he's got some mad skills on the battlefield. Like, a four-star general or something. The mice do have some sort of telepathic ability. I guess some could be strong enough to erase memories." She chose a cassette and shoved it into the player; Queen's _These are the Days of Our Lives_ blasted over the speakers. "Oh, I love this song!" She began to sing along.

   Chex shifted impatiently. "But, like, do you think he'd really _do_ it?" she pressed.

   "I dunno. Maybe. Why do you want to know?"

   Chris snorted. "She probably wants to go tell all her little forum buddies where they can find them. She never could keep a secret."

   "Shut up," Chex grumbled, slumping back in her seat.

   Frowning, Alley turned around in her seat. "Look, I can't say what Stoker may or may not do, but I _can_ tell you that all four of those guys are _way_ protective of Charley. They consider her one of theirs, and they'll fight tooth and nail to defend their own. If you go blabbing their location around and end up putting her or her garage in danger, getting mind-wiped will be the _least_ of your worries. You've already seen Modo in action. Do you _really_ wanna risk pissing off a bunch of trained rebel soldiers who can heft concrete walls with their _bare hands_?"

   Chex didn't have much to say on the matter after that.

   Alley could only hope she wouldn't have much to say on the matter at any future time, either.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'd always wondered how the mice could drive around being so conspicuous and yet nobody ever seems to figure out they're there. Just a few ideas I had on the matter...
> 
> Still doesn't explain how Chi-town never seems to notice the big-ass spaceships that constantly crash into the scoreboard. Ummm ... chalk it up to really drunk baseball fans and urban legend? ;)


	13. Thirteen

   It was almost six o'clock before the Archer twins dropped Alley in front of the garage and took off to make it to their scheduled dinner in time. Chris was fretting about being late; Chex, of course, couldn't have cared less. They drove away, still arguing, as Alley waved goodbye, her purchases at her feet.

   She picked up numerous shopping bags and slung them over her arms, then hefted the heavy box bearing the disassembled pieces of her new desk, awkwardly dragging it into the garage and wishing she'd taken Chris up on his offer of helping to lug it up to the apartment. But since purchasing the desk at the last minute was the reason they were running late to begin with, she'd insisted he leave to meet his father as planned.

   She noticed that Stoker's bike was gone again, but Throttle and Modo were engaged in a card game. Throttle looked up, chuckling as she staggered past the folding card table. "Need a hand there, Alley-girl?" he asked.

   "That would not be unappreciated. Thanks," she replied with a weak grin, handing off the box to him. "You can just leave it in the living room against the wall or something. I'll put it together later." She started up the stairs for the apartment, shifting the bags in her arms as she went.

   "I thought you were shopping for a phone. Did you buy the whole store out?" he teased.

   Alley laughed. "Oh, sure. I couldn't decide which one I wanted so I figured I might as well just take … them… " Her words trailed off and she stopped dead in her tracks just outside the living room, bags sliding from her suddenly-limp arms. Throttle nearly ran into her as he came through the door, hastily sidestepping to avoid bowling her over. His protest died in his throat when he caught sight of what she was gawking at.

   Charley and Vinnie were in the kitchen. They'd come up earlier to make dinner, but that sure didn't look like what they were doing. Charley leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and Vinnie stood just in front of her. It seemed innocent enough, but the white mouse stood just a little too close, eyes lidded as he spoke quietly, clearly flirting.

   The eavesdroppers waited for her to push him away with a laugh and a retort, like she usually did when he got too cheeky. Instead, she offered a slow smile and raised her hand to gently tickle the fur under his chin, and that was enough to make his ears turn pink. His tail snaked around her legs, tugging her closer as her arm slid around his shoulders. He lowered his head to softly nuzzle at her ear, one hand settling on her hip as her eyes began to flutter closed.

   And Alley just couldn't hold it in anymore. "What the _hell_?" she yelped, and the pair jumped apart like a bomb had gone off between them, expressions torn between startled and mortified. Unfortunately, Vinnie's tail was still wrapped around Charley's legs; she was yanked forward and straight into him, losing her balance and sending them both crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

   Before Alley could open her mouth again, a pair of black-gloved hands clapped around her head and what felt like a boa constrictor coiled tightly around her waist, lifting her clean off the floor. "Sorry about the interruption, folks," Throttle's voice purred in her ear. "We'll just be … er … in the garage. Just minding our own business! Carry on!" And he forcefully carted a fuming Alley back down the stairs, leaving the pair to untangle themselves.

   "Uh … did I miss somethin'?" Modo took in the odd scene with raised eyebrow.

   "You sure did," Throttle chuckled. He turned Alley around, tail still tightly wound about her waist. "If I let you go, do you promise not to go chargin' back up there?" he asked sternly.

   She replied with narrowed eyes … and a sharp kick to the knee that made him yelp. "Put … me … _down_ ," she muffled around his hand.

   "Better do as she says, Throttle. Before she bites ya next," Modo warned with a grin.

   Alley jerked her head free from Throttle's hands. "I wouldn't do that," she said sweetly. "I'd hate to have to pick fur out of my teeth, after all."

   Throttle cocked an eyebrow, pulled off his glove and held a hand in front of her face, palm forward. The skin was tan and calloused … and completely bald. She'd never studied their hands so closely before, and had never noticed how the fur shortened over the backs and disappeared entirely over the palms and insides of their fingers. Throttle's hand was very much like a human's, but a little more elongated, with thicker pads on palms and fingers, and knuckles a little more pronounced. His nails were trimmed but seemed thicker than normal; she wondered if they'd grow into natural claws if he didn't cut them, and whether he'd be offended if she asked.

   And then she gave herself a mental shake, reminded of the issue at hand and pissed that she'd let herself get distracted so easily. "What the _hell_ is going _on_ between those two?" she barked, jerking her head toward the stairs.

   "That's actually a really good question," Throttle replied with another chuckle. "Looks like Vincent and I need to have a little chat." He looked undeniably pleased.

   "Wait." Modo's eye widened. "You mean to say … Vinnie and Charley Ma'am…"

   "Looks like. Bit of bad timing on our part, though."

   "Whoa, Mama." Modo sat back in his chair, one hand coming to rest on his forehead. "I ain't never thought I'd see the day when those two actually quit dancin' around the subject an' get straight to the point."

   "Yep. Looks like some congratulations may be in order," Throttle agreed.

   "Heh. Yeah. An' a whole lotta ribbin," Modo finished with a grin. "This's gonna be fun."

   Throttle jumped and grunted when another sharp jab in the leg reminded him of Alley's presence. She glared at him, arms crossed, one eyebrow cocked and lips pursed with displeasure; the very picture of impatience. She probably would've been tapping her foot on the floor, just for added affect … except she was currently dangling a foot _above_ it, still wrapped firmly in his tail.

   "Oh. Whoops. Almost forgot about you."

   "Ya _think_?"

   He grinned and set her on her feet, but still held her in place. " _Stay,_ " he told her firmly.

   She just glared harder. "What am I, a puppy?"

   "Stop being difficult," he sighed, finally unwinding his tail from her waist. "There's no reason to get so upset."

   "No _reason_? Your pal was macking on my cousin and … and she was macking _back_! Sure, what's there to be _upset_ about?"

   Utter silence greeted her words. Both mice stared at her and neither of them looked particularly happy; she had the oddest sense of having just walked herself casually into a lion's den. Blindfolded.

   "You sayin' you don't approve?" Modo finally asked, voice dangerously soft.

   "Are you saying you _do_?" she shot back.

   "Those two've been dancin' around each other since they met. 'Bout time Vinnie wised up and started takin' stuff a little more seriously," Throttle grunted. "She's good for him. And I think he's finally figuring that out."

   Alley chewed on her lower lip, brow furrowed as she thought about what to say and how to say it without setting either of them off. "I just think … it isn't a good idea," she hedged. "Vinnie isn't exactly the … take-him-home-to-meet-the-folks kinda guy. Didn't we just establish earlier that letting the world find out about you is a _bad_ thing? That humans aren't ready to accept the fact that aliens walk among them?"

   "Who says the world's gotta know?"

   "Oh, come on!" She started to pace, getting frustrated. "What kind of … of relationship could they _possibly_ have when they'd never be able to … go out on normal dates or meet up with friends and family at holidays? What if things actually get serious and they decide to take it further? Get married or whatever? Exactly _who_ would be invited to the wedding? You think Charley's parents wouldn't be hurt that their only daughter actually gets herself hitched and they never even get a chance to _meet_ the guy?"

   "Okay, kid, derail that train of thought _right there_."

   Charley stomped down the stairs, clearly having heard most of the conversation, and looking none-too-pleased as she dragged a protesting Vinnie behind her. She marched herself over to her cousin, lips drawn into a thin line. She maintained a solid hold on Vinnie's hand, who looked like he was ready to turn tail and bolt, offering a sheepish grin to his brothers when they looked at him with raised eyebrows.

   Charley didn't even look at the other two, her attention focused strictly on her fidgeting cousin. "Alley, I realize that you've only known these guys a short time," she began, voice stern. "I realize that you probably hold the same natural prejudices as any other human who'd meet them, and I won't fault you for that. I imagine the thought of me being with what essentially amounts to a giant, talking animal might even sicken you a little. And I won't fault you for that, either."

   Alley tried to speak, but Charley held up a hand, blocking her words. "I'm only going to tell you this once. These guys are as much family to me as anyone I've known. I would do _anything_ to protect them, even give up my life, my career, my family. I've never thought of them as animals. Under the fur and the tails and the mousy features, they're more … more _people_ than a lot of humans I've met, and having them fall into my life was nothing short of a miracle. And whatever _this_ is…" She gestured between herself and Vinnie. "Whatever may or may not be starting, or evolving … it's strictly between _us_. What I choose to do with my life, who I choose to do it _with_ , is nobody's business but mine. You can either accept that fact and move on, or you can pack it up and move yourself back to Florida. The choice is yours."

   There was utter silence. All three mice gaped at her, stunned by the confession, and the absolute conviction in her roiling emotions. Alley stared at her for a long moment, face shifting through a myriad of expressions. She blinked a few times, a tell-tale glitter brightening her eyes, and her chin quivered ever-so-slightly before she jerked her head in a brief, shaky nod and turned to flee the garage.

   As soon as she disappeared up the stairs, Charley's bravado vanished. She dropped Vinnie's hand and ran her own hands through her hair, breath leaving her in a rush as what she'd just said and who she'd just said it in front of hit her with the force of a brick to the head. Her face was flaming, and she couldn't bring herself to meet anyone's eyes. She wasn't empathic but even _she_ could feel their shock reverberating in the room. "Well, uh, guess I'd better get back to work. These cars won't fix themselves," she mumbled, reaching for her tools … only to find a strong, furry arm sliding around her shoulders from behind, pulling her back against a warm chest.

   "Did you really mean all that?" Vinnie asked, voice awed. "What you said just now, is it true?"

   She squirmed, face growing even hotter with embarrassment. It wasn't often she let her temper get the best of her. She worked way too hard to appear tough and capable and to set such a girly-girl display of emotion loose in front of the egomaniacs was a serious blow to her pride. "C'mon, fellas. You think I'd let you clumsy lummoxes run loose in my garage and home if I didn't _like_ you?" she joked weakly.

   "Then … what about the last part?" Vinnie pressed. "This mean you're my girl now?"

   She squirmed again, biting her lip and peeking up to find Modo and Throttle grinning openly at her. They looked so happy that she found herself relaxing a little, a small, shy smile twitching at her lips. "I guess … it couldn't hurt to see where things go from here," she replied.

   Immediately, Vinnie's other arm joined the first and Charley yelped as she found herself lifted clean off her feet and spun around, nearly deafened by his whoop of joy. Throttle and Modo high-fived, and Vinnie plopped Charley on her feet and grinned down into her blushing face, hands resting at the juncture of her neck. His thumbs caressed her jawline and that, coupled with the open adoration in his red eyes, was enough to make her weak in the knees.

   But his expression slowly changed, happiness replaced by growing doubt. "But, ya know … Sweetheart, what Alley girl said ain't wrong," he mumbled, ears drooping. "I don't got anything to offer you. Can't take you to fancy restaurants or do anything _normal_ people do on this planet. An' it'll be awful hard to explain to your folks why you never bring the boyfriend to meet 'em. I mean, given _her_ reaction, what d'ya think _they'll_ have to say about it?"

   "I don't really care," she replied softly, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "Like I told her, what we do is our business. Whatever _this_ is, let's just take it a step at a time, yeah? No need to think too far ahead, is there? As for the rest of it, I've never been a flower and chocolates type of girl, and you know I don't have time for fancy dates. All I need from you is … is your promise that you won't turn tail and run the moment things get tough. No matter what anyone says or does, if we just stick it out together, I think … I think it'll all work out just fine."

   He offered a slow smile, pressing their foreheads together. "Lady, you have made a very wise decision," he murmured. "I promise, you are _not_ gonna regret it."

   Whatever he might have said or done next was disrupted by loud whoops and catcalls from their nearly-forgotten audience. "Better'n a movie!" Modo cheered, as Throttle heaved a dramatic, love-sick sigh and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

   "It just … gets a bro right here," he simpered, tapping a fist to his heart. "Anyone got some antacid on 'em?"

   Vinnie glowered, arms tightening protectively around Charley, who bumped her forehead against his chest, rocking it back and forth as her shoulders shook with laughter. "Oh, I am _so_ gonna regret this."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeah, so, some of you probably don't like Alley very much right now. That's okay. I'm expecting it and she's meant to have some unlikeable (and thereby realistic) traits. She's only human, after all. She's gotta learn.


	14. Fourteen

   Charley closed the garage a bit earlier than normal that evening, and the gang all headed up to the apartment for their typical Friday night movie marathon. As per usual, Modo popped in an action flick, Throttle raided the kitchen for snacks, and Charley claimed a spot on the couch, snuggled up against Vinnie with her head tucked under his chin. Vinnie looked like a mouse in paradise, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and an expression that could only be described as bliss covering his features. They all made themselves comfortable and settled in to watch The Fifth Element—Charley _promised_ they'd enjoy it—and nobody mentioned the conspicuous absence of the newest member of their little family.

   But Throttle could feel her absence. Keenly. Or, rather, what he was feeling was the churning turmoil of her emotions ricocheting inside his skull.

   He shifted, casting a furtive glance toward the hallway. He'd always been the most empathic of the three of them. Not as sensitive as Stoker, of course, but he was no slouch when it came to his mental faculties. He was able to pick up and read emotions from nearly anyone he met, even manipulate them if he had time enough to concentrate. This was a great tactical advantage on the battlefield, being able to put terror and confusion into the enemies heads that could turn the tide of battle against them. Unfortunately, the ability had its price; it tended to put him into a near-coma with too much use. Thus, he didn't employ the ability very often, keeping it strictly for life-or-death situations when there was no other option for escape.

   It was especially easy to read humans, who didn't possess any natural ability to keep mental intruders out, and tended to project their emotions loudly and often. Were it not for his own fortified mental blocks, the constant barrage from the population of Chicago alone probably would've driven him insane years ago. As it was, even with his mental doors slammed tight, Alley's confusion and grief and guilt still managed to seep through the cracks. He could tell Vinnie and Modo were being affected, too; he wasn't the only one sneaking glances down the hall.

   He slid his gaze toward Charley. She appeared to be absorbed in the movie, but when he lightly probed, he could tell she was distracted. A bit angry, a _lot_ hurt, and worried. About Alley? Something else? He couldn't tell. But he did know that things couldn't be left like this. And since he doubted either of the two stubborn women would be willing to take the first step toward fixing things, it fell to him—being the natural diplomat that he was—to help them along a bit.

   He hopped to his feet, drawing their attention. "Bathroom," he grunted, stomping down the hall. He felt his bros' mental support as they realized what his real goal was, and thus encouraged, stopped in front of Alley's repaired bedroom door and tapped quietly. There was no answer from inside; he didn't really expect there to be, but that wasn't about to deter him. Testing the knob, finding it unlocked, he pushed the door open just far enough to poke his head through.

   Only to discover the room was vacant.

   A brief moment of startled panic, before he sternly brought himself under control, sending mental reassurance to Vinnie and Modo, who had picked up on his distress. Of course Alley hadn't really left; he could feel her strongly which meant she was still close by. Besides, her belongings were still there. Including her pet. Which growled at him in warning and quickly vanished into a large nest of wood shavings and shredded paper. He snorted. Rats.

   The window was wide open, a cool breeze fluttering the gauzy curtains and glittering strands of beads she'd hung up. He inhaled, searching for a scent … which was a bit pointless as the room was steeped in her sweet fragrance. On impulse, he climbed out onto the fire escape, shimmied up the ladder to the roof and peered over the side.

   She was there. Reclining on a blue shag rug in the middle of the roof, a small pink beanbag propping her up as she gazed at the half-moon struggling valiantly to shine through the cloud cover of an approaching storm. A box of tissues rested beside her leg, and judging by the myriad of crumpled white balls around her, she'd been making good use of it.

   Throttle took the time to question how she'd managed to get all that up there without killing herself before he pulled himself over the ledge and approached cautiously. The light was dim enough that his green field specs were more of a hindrance than a help, so he tucked them into his belt. His vision adjusted, and he took note of her blotchy face, the dried tears and grayish smears of makeup streaking her reddened cheeks. Her eyes looked unusually glassy, and he figured out why a moment later when she lifted a small glass jar of clear liquid to her lips and took a sip; the sharp-sweet scent of strong liquor hit his nose, making his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

   "Aren't you a little young to be drinking?"

   Alley started violently, nearly spilling the drink down her front. "Jiminy _Christmas_ , don't _do_ that!" she snapped, slapping a metal lid on the jar. She glared up at him for a moment, before her expression faltered and a look of confusion crossed her features. "…Throttle?" she asked uncertainly, and he recalled that she probably had never seen him without the shades before.

   "Yep." He sat on the rug beside her, watching her reaction from the corner of his eye.

   She looked down, fidgeting with the jar in her hands. "Your turn?" she mumbled.

   He could feel her mentally bracing herself, realized that she was expecting another bawling out. "I ain't here to bust your chops," he assured her. "Just came up to see if you were okay."

   She blinked. "Why?"

   "Cause you obviously need to talk, and humans don't have an off-switch." He tapped his temple.

   She looked confused, and then her expression cleared. "Oh." She looked down again. "Sorry."

   "Ain't your fault." He nodded at the jar in her hands. "What is that stuff, anyway? And where'd you get it?"

   She shrugged. "Moonshine. I found it stashed in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Charley's dad probably sent it to her. He sends my dad a few jars every year at Christmas. Apple cinnamon moonshine. It's pretty tasty." She uncapped the jar and took another sip, nearly choking when Throttle abruptly pulled it away from her.

   "You're too young," he repeated firmly.

   "Okay, Papa Smurf. I'm twenty years old. That's one less year than the legal age. Arrest me," she shot back, snatching it back from him.

   He chuckled. "Gimme a swig?"

   She pursed her lips, then shrugged and handed it over. He took a swallow, coughing as the liquor burned a sweet, hot trail down his throat and settled warmly in his stomach. "Yeah," he choked. "Strong stuff."

   She giggled, leaning back into her beanbag. Her amusement slowly faded and her expression sobered as she gazed up at the clouds. "I wanted to watch the stars," she murmured. "But the city's too bright. Can hardly see them in the middle of Chicago."

   "The cloud cover probably doesn't help much, either."

   Her smile was faint and brief. "Is Charley mad?" she asked in an abrupt change of subject.

   He took another swig, savoring the taste. It really was pretty good stuff. "Not so much," he replied. "She's more hurt than anything."

   She frowned. "Does she want me to leave?"

   "I think she wants you to _understand_."

   She turned her head to look at him, eyes sad. "Am I … a terrible person because I don't?" she whispered.

   He set the jar between them; she immediately reached for it to take a sip, and then one more. "I think," he began quietly, "that you're a human being who reacted pretty much like any human'd react to seeing … well, what you saw." He considered. "And if Charley-girl was caught makin' out with one of us on Mars, there'd be more'n a few raised eyebrows over it there, too."

   "But I thought you all know about humans."

   "That don't mean a relationship between a human and a mouse'd be accepted there any more easily than it'd be here," he admitted. "Corruption's a universal problem, and so's bigotry and prejudice against anything and anyone different and outside the norm."

   Alley sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "I know I'm a brat," she mumbled. "I know I'm spoiled, and shallow, and I can be too bossy and I stick my nose where it doesn't belong. I've been coddled all my life. Overprotective mom, a dad who lets me get my way too much … I'm aware of my faults. But … I've never been accused of being a _bigot_ before." Her eyes opened, glittering with a sheen of fresh tears. "The worst part is, I'm not sure it's _wrong_ ," she choked out.

   Throttle pulled some tissues from the half-empty box and handed them to her wordlessly. She accepted them and blotted at her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to get herself under control. "You are good, decent people. I _know_ you are. And if you were human, I wouldn't have any problem with one of you dating Charley. Not even Vinnie. But, I just—"

   "Can't get past the looks," he finished.

   She shuddered, pressing her forearm over her hot eyes. "I never realized I could be such a jerk," she mumbled, voice choked. "I didn't mean to hurt Charley. I don't mean to hurt any of _you_. I should be _happy_ for her and Vinnie that they found each other. Instead, I made my own cousin feel like she has to choose between him and her family. She shouldn't have to feel that way. She shouldn't have to pick one."

   "You're right. She shouldn't."

   She shot him a sour look from under her arm. "You know, you kinda suck at this whole cheering up business."

   Throttle smiled faintly at her expression, scooting closer. He plucked the tissues from her fingers, lowered her arm and tilted her chin up to carefully dab at the tears on her face, cleaning off the streaked mascara. "I ain't here to bust your chops, but I ain't here to pat you on the back and tell you it's all okay, either. Because it ain't. And it won't be until you get a few things straight in your head."

   Her gaze slid away, but he gave her chin a gentle shake to bring it back to his. "Fact is, Charley-girl's got her own life and it involves giant alien mice. And she happens to have special feelings for one of those mice. So you've got to accept that and move on, just like she said. Or you really will be makin' her choose between him and you. And, sorry to say, it probably won't be you."

   "I know," she whispered. "But I don't know how to just … pretend I'm okay with all this."

   "Well, take a page from Charley's book, an' take it a day at a time. You're already gettin' okay with us as a whole, aren't you?"

   "I … I don't know."

   "Put it this way," he said. "When you first arrived you could hardly look at us without shiverin' and cringin' away whenever one of us got too close. Now look at you." He gave her chin another teasing shake. "I've got my hands on you and you don't even flinch. We're drinkin' moonshine outta the same jar, and you sure don't seem disgusted by it. What's a little spit-swappin' between friends, eh?"

   She grimaced. " _There's_ a mental image I didn't need."

   He smirked at her. "Smartass."

   "Better'n a dumbath," she retorted, words slurring slightly. She pulled a face. "Damn. Think my tongue's broken."

   He chuckled. "You better lay off the 'shine now."

   "Nah." She picked up the mostly-empty jar and shook it. "Better to finish it off an' hide the evidence. You can't tell Charley now, ya know. You sat here and got drunk right along with her underage cousin. She'll lay into you worse'n she did me."

   He snorted. "You're probably right. That woman's a force to be reckoned with when she's pissed."

   "I'll drink to that!" She tipped the jar back and took a long swig, choking on a laugh when he snatched it away from her. She leaned back again as he finished off the last of it, pleasantly buzzed as the world spun lazily around her and warmth spread through her body, turning her arms and legs into limp noodles. "S'probably gunna rain," she mumbled.

   "Yeah. I can smell it comin'," he agreed.

   "Probably should get up 'n drag all this stuff back in, huh?"

   "You don't look like you can even walk, much less take a ladder with an armload of stuff."

   She stuck her tongue out at him. "That mean _you_ gonna carry it in?" At his look, she giggled. "S'okay. I'll just stay here 'n drown in the rain. Charley won't mind."

   He huffed. "You're just tryin' ta guilt me into carryin' you in."

   "Is it working?"

   Chuckling, he shook his head and turned his back to her. "Hop on," he commanded. A moment later, two slim arm circled his neck as a warm body leaned heavily against him. He gulped, feeling the press of her breasts against his back. That meant nothing. He was just lonely; seeing Vinnie and Charley cuddled so closely reminded him of how long it had been since he'd been with his own lady. He twined his tail around Alley's waist and hooked his hands under her knees, rising easily to his feet. He tried to pretend it was Carbine he carried, but the weight was too light, her legs much slimmer and softer than Carbine's lean-muscled form. Not to mention the absolute lack of fur on her bare thighs, warm and silken under his palms. Definitely a bad idea, he thought, gritting his teeth against the sudden urge to run his hands over her legs. Instead, he hooked her legs around his waist, reached down and grabbed the rug and chair.

   "Hang on tight. And _please_ don't scream," he muttered, hopping onto the roof edge and then leaping off, falling the short distance to land on the platform outside her window. The fire escape shook with the impact, and she squeaked and clutched him tighter as he ducked inside and dropped her things on the floor. She slid down and leaned against him for a moment, regaining her balance, and he held her up with his tail until she was steady.

   "Your fur's really soft," she mumbled, tottering to the bed and sitting heavily on it. "'S kinda like hugging a giant Teddy bear."

   "Thanks ever so," he deadpanned.

   She sniggered and heaved herself backward onto the bed, kicking off her flip-flops before sprawling atop the covers. "Throttle?"

   "Yeah?"

   She sighed, already half-asleep. "Thanks for coming t' talk to me. And for not yelling at me. And for not dropping me."

   He chuckled. "Sure."

   She smiled faintly up at him. "I promise to try harder."

   "Okay."

   She reached out and gripped his fingers, tugging lightly. "And I think I understand … a little bit more." She was silent for a while; he thought she'd fallen asleep, until she opened her eyes again to meet his gaze. "She should've fallen for you, instead," she murmured. "You're the sweet one. And you've got kind eyes."

   He stared down at her for a long moment, surprised by the confession, before freeing his hand from her grip and quietly leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

 


	15. Fifteen

   When Alley woke up, it felt like someone had run over her head. She lay there, eyes squinched tight, and waited until the ringing in her ears cleared enough to try and recall why she appeared to be suffering from a hangover. Her mouth felt and tasted like an old sock. And her face felt uncomfortably tight and sticky. She shifted, turned onto her side and …. oooohhh _there_ was the nausea she'd been waiting for! She let her head dangle over the side of the bed, clenching her teeth against the urge to vomit, grimly determined not to up-heave all over her nice shag rug.

   Which, for some reason, had moved itself to another part of the room, draped messily over her beanbag chair in the corner. She frowned, trying to remember how the hell it had gotten all the way over there.

   The wave of nausea slowly faded and she cautiously sat up by degrees, desperate not to upset her stomach any more than it already was. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, sat a moment until the fresh bout of head-pounding dizziness passed. Even with the bedroom lights off, the sunlight streaming through her opened window was enough to send lances of pain through her overly-sensitive eyes. She slowly stood and made her way unsteadily to her dresser, searching for the sunglasses she'd tossed there.

   There was a tumbler of something thick and brown sitting there, instead. She squinted at it, considering. She was pretty sure she hadn't left it there herself, which meant someone had left it for her. She just couldn't figure out _why_. Its contents looked … well, she didn't want to think about _what_ it looked like. But it sure didn't resemble anything edible. She leaned over for a cautious sniff, finding there wasn't much of an odor, which was also odd. That's when she noticed the slip of paper tucked under the glass, pulled it free to read the short note scrawled messily on its surface.

_Drink this. It'll cure what ails ya._

   "Oh," she said softly, finally recalling the many events of the previous day, ending with her impromptu drinking binge on the roof, and Throttle's soothing company. She glanced at herself in the mirror, grimacing. _Ugh._ She looked like a raccoon. A raccoon that had gotten into a fistfight, and lost. And he had seen her looking like _this_? She chose not to ponder why the idea embarrassed her so much, instead picking up the tumbler and taking a careful gulp. She immediately choked; _whatever_ it was, it had the consistency of watered-down applesauce and the bitterness of strong, black coffee. The taste she could handle, but the texture made her gag; she'd never been a big fan of applesauce.

   Still, if Throttle had left it for her, there was a good reason. Some kind of medicine, if the note was to be believed. So she plugged her nose and drank the rest of the contents in three large swallows, gasping for air as soon as the last rank dollop slid down her throat. "This crap had better work some magic," she choked out, slamming the glass back onto the dresser and digging through her drawers for a change of clothes. She needed a shower, _stat_.

   She had just left her room when the nausea abruptly returned full-force. And she knew there would be no holding it back this time. Eyes widening in panic, she slapped a hand to her mouth and made a mad scramble for the bathroom, slamming the door and diving for the toilet in the nick of time as she proceeded to empty her stomach into the porcelain bowl, heaving until there was nothing left, and even after that.

   When she finally finished retching, she sat on the floor with her face pressed against her forearm for another five minutes, waiting for her head to stop spinning. Eventually, she forced herself to her feet and shakily peeled off her soiled clothes, kicking them into a corner. She rinsed her mouth in the sink, turned on the bathtub faucet and let the tub fill.

   And just as she about to step into the steaming water, sudden, horrible cramps seized her stomach, making her bend nearly double and almost fall into the tub.

   Her skin flushed hot as her entire body broke out into a cold sweat; she cursed fluently as she staggered back to the toilet, wondering if she should start calling for help. She'd been poisoned. She was sure of it! And if she lived through this, she was going to _murder_ Throttle the next time she saw him!

   And if she _didn't_ live through it, she vowed, her vengeful spirit would haunt the golden mouse for the rest of his natural _life_. There would be no place in this universe or any other where he could escape her wrath!

   She'd let the water run too long; when she finally managed to crawl into the old-fashioned, claw-foot tub, it sloshed over the sides and onto the floor. Charley was gonna kill her, but she felt too sick to care at the moment as she stretched out, keeping one arm draped over the side so she wouldn't accidentally drown herself if she blacked out. The water was no longer steaming by that point; it couldn't even be considered lukewarm anymore, but she was too exhausted to reach past her feet and turn on the tap again. So she just floated with her eyes closed, afraid to move, or breathe, or do _anything_ that might cause the sickness and cramping to start all over again. Her tense muscles soon began to relax, and the pounding in her head eased as she rested, the dizzying pain fading by slow degrees.

   After a while, when she was sure the sickness wasn't going to come back, she held her breath and slid further down into the tub, fully submerging. She stayed under as long as she could, scrubbing her face and running fingers through her hair to work out the tangles. The cooled water felt good against her tight, aching skin and helped clear the last of the fog from her mind.

   When she finally surfaced, blinking and wiping water from her eyes, Stoker stood inside the bathroom with an armload of towels and a bemused expression.

   She blinked at him in confusion for a few moments, trying to process what she was seeing. Were hallucinations the next step? Was this the part where the poison reached her _brain_? She was about to die now, wasn't she? She started to hyperventilate.

   "Easy there, honey," Stoker said softly, frowning as he stepped closer to her. "Take deep breaths. That's it."

   And that's when it hit her that, yes, there really _was_ a Martian mouse standing in the bathroom and yes, she happened to be _very naked_ at the moment. She allowed herself one, brief moment of relief that she wasn't dying (yet), before choking out a startled squawk; even more water sloshed onto the floor in her mad scramble to press her body against the side of the tub, trying uselessly to hide from his sight. "What're you _doing_? Get out of here!" she barked, voice hoarse.

   "Relax, princess. I just came in to make sure you were okay." Stoker kept his voice low and soothing as he approached her. "Good thing you came up for air. I called and knocked. When you didn't answer I thought you'd passed out in the water. I was about to jump in there after you." He offered a quick smile, dropping half the towels onto the floor to sop up the mess. She dared to reach out and snatch another from his arms, pulling it into the tub with her.

   He chuckled. "There's no need for that, is there? You don't have anything I haven't already seen a dozen times over." She glared and he relented, grinning as he sat back on his haunches. "So, is all this just from the hangover, or did you drink my medicine?"

   She started. " _You_ left that vile crap on my dresser? What the hell did I ever do to you to deserve being _poisoned_?"

   "I didn't poison you, honey. You'll be just fine," he soothed. "It's an old Martian remedy. Throttle radioed me last night, asked if I happened to have any on hand. Seemed to think you'd be needing a dose."

   "I'm gonna kill you _both_ ," she groaned, resting her forehead on her arm. "Remedy, my _ass_! You damn near turned me inside out!"

   "Hmm. Then it did its job, at least." She jumped when his hand came to rest on her head, running gently over her wet hair. "I'm sorry, honey. It's a pretty strong concoction. I halved the usual dosage, but I guess it was still a bit too much for your little body. Think maybe I should've quartered it, instead. But I wanted to make sure it was effective. Never tried giving it to a human before."

   She peeked at him over her arm. His expression was sincere, just a bit regretful. "What _was_ it?" she asked grudgingly.

   "In simplest terms, a detoxification drug," he explained. "There are a lot of natural gas pools on Mars, since the Plutarkians invaded and wiped the planet, disrupted the ecosystem. They form deep underground, building up until the pressure finally causes the ground to rupture, like a … a gas geyser. If still underground, that escaping gas gets trapped in caves and forms deadly pockets. Or, even worse, it can escape into channels and natural vents and leak into other passages, some of them in habitated areas well-used by the cave mice."

   Alley nodded at him to continue.

   "The gas is highly poisonous, full of fast-acting toxins that will spread through the entire body, shutting it down. A few breaths can kill a mouse in minutes. The detox drug is meant to do exactly what it did to you. Basically, eject and purge the toxins from a body by any means necessary. Vomiting, bowel expulsion, sweating … well, you know what it does." He grinned at her dark look. "It doesn't completely cure the damage, but it keeps you alive long enough to get rescue and proper medical attention." He flashed another grin and a saucy wink. "Turns out, it's also pretty good for curing hangovers in a jiff."

   She glowered at him. "That's a little _extreme_ , don't you think? Aspirin, a dark room, and lots of sleep would've done the same thing. Hell, I felt better _before_ I stuffed that crap down my throat."

   "I guess this is a case of the cure being worse than the disease," he teased. "But sleeping doesn't detoxify your blood stream. Trust me, your liver will thank me."

   "My liver might, but I can't say the same for my stomach. Which I'm pretty sure is still in the toilet. Along with most of my intestines. Possibly a lung," she grumbled. "You couldn't have _warned_ me about the affects or something?"

   He laughed. "Would you have drank it if I did?"

   " _Hell_ no!"

   "Well, then."

   "You're the devil," she groused, dropping her head on her forearm again. "I'm being punished, aren't I?"

   He ruffled her hair. "At the very least, you won't be tempted to finish off an entire jar of moonshine by yourself again, will you?"

   "I didn't finish the entire jar. Hell, I think Throttle drank more of it than I did! _Please_ tell me he got a dose of your crap remedy, too."

   "Sorry, honey." He flashed a sheepish grin. "Don't think he'll be needing it. Mice have a much stronger constitution than humans. Our bodies can handle a lot more alcohol, filter out the bloodstream more easily. A little moonshine ain't gonna affect him overmuch. Now, Martian _ale_ , on the other hand … a bottle o' _that'll_ knock a mouse clean off his feet."

   "Damn it. That's just not fair," she complained.

   He laughed again, reached out to pull the drain, then turned the tap on to let fresh hot water pour into the tub. "When you're cleaned up, come out to the kitchen for some food."

   "Never. Eating. Again. Stomach … toilet … remember?"

   "You need to replenish all those nutrients you just lost. I'll whip up somethin' light and healthy for you."

   "You can cook?" She regarded him doubtfully

   "Course. I don't keep a maid, ya know. It's cook, or starve to death," he replied.

   "Where's Charley?"

   "Working. She got called out to fix a flat tire or something, and the boys are out patrolling. It's just you and me for now."

   "Then who's running the garage?"

   "I imagine it's shut at the moment."

   Alley thumped her head against her arm in frustration. "How does she _not_ tank her business?" she muttered to herself. But, whatever. Charley'd made it perfectly clear she wasn't interested in any help. Or in sound, logical advice, for that matter. "Not my concern … not my concern…"

   Stoker chuckled. "It's sweet how you worry for your cousin. Useless, but sweet."

   She pouted at him. "Feel free to leave the room _any_ time now."

   He winked. "Sure you don't want me to stay? I can help scrub those hard-to-reach places."

   " _Out!_ "

 


	16. Sixteen

   Alley almost felt back to normal when she finally entered the small kitchen, where Stoker was in the midst of preparing a meal. He glanced at her and smiled. "Good timing. Food's ready. How ya feelin', kid?"

   "Human," she replied.

   He grinned and nodded at the table. "Have a seat."

   "You know, I really wasn't kidding when I said I wasn't hungry." And she wasn't about to tempt fate and risk a repeat of the past two hours.

   He wordlessly picked up two plates piled with scrambled eggs, toast, sliced oranges, and set them on the table before seating himself. She squeaked in shock when she felt his cold tail against her back, propelling her to a second chair and forcing her into it. He pointed his fork at her plate. "Eat," he commanded sternly, the clear order of a high-ranking official used to being obeyed. She hesitated, wondering what he'd do if she just walked out. Decided he'd probably have no qualms about strapping her to the chair and force-feeding her. She huffed, picked up her fork, and he smiled. "Good girl."

   The food was surprisingly good. A little bland—he didn't bother much with spices or seasoning—but at least it wasn't burnt. Unlike the trio, he seemed to know his way around a kitchen well enough to whip up something edible. Alley managed to finish half the plate before setting down her fork. When he would have protested, she held up a hand. "I can't eat any more. I'm half the size of you. How much food do you expect me to fit in here?"

   He laughed. "No wonder you're so skinny. A little more meat on your bones would do you good. Keep you warm for winter," he teased, taking her plate to finish the remains for her.

   "What am I, a chipmunk?" She stood and moved to the sink, piling dishes and cookware into it and turning on the hot water. "Thanks for breakfast," she added, pouring soap into the water.

   "Anytime, honey." She jumped, looking over her shoulder to find him right behind her, picking up a dish towel. "You wash, I'll dry?" he offered.

   "You cooked. I can clean up. Besides, the whole place needs cleaned today, anyhow."

   "You sure you shouldn't take it easy for awhile?"

   She smiled wryly. "Amazingly, your quack remedy seemed to do the trick. Now that all the ickiness and mind-numbing terror is over, I feel a lot better. I _suppose_ I should thank you for coming all the way back here to drop it off. Not that it means I'll be trusting any 'medicine' you try to give me in the future, of course."

   "Of course." He grinned. "I thought you looked unusually frumpy today. Figured you just weren't up for dollin' yourself up like usual."

   She self-consciously glanced down at her ratty overalls with the legs cut off at the knee, worn over an equally ratty T-shirt. She'd pulled her hair back and covered it with a tie-dyed bandana. She hadn't even bothered with makeup. "No sense dressing up if I'm gonna be on my hands and knees scrubbing floors," she mumbled, focusing on scrubbing dried eggs off the skillet.

   "Don't worry, honey. You're a beauty no matter what you're wearin'. Or aren't wearin'."

   She could almost _feel_ his smirk, and her face flamed. She sighed, shaking her head. "And it was going so _well_ , too," she lamented to the brillo pad.

   Stoker blinked down at her. "What was?"

   "You. Me. Talking like … semi-normal people do. A whole ten minutes without a single innuendo. That's some kind of a record."

   "I've been remiss. I'll have to work on that." He winked, and she huffed.

   "It's all jokes with you," she complained. "How am I supposed to take anything you say seriously? Are you physically incapable of speaking to a woman without making some chauvinistic remark? It's not your most endearing quality, you know."

   "Hmmm." He slanted her a sideways glance, one corner of his mouth twitching up. "So, if I started gettin' serious, you wouldn't have a problem?" His tone was all innocence; the _look_ in his eyes was anything but.

   She sputtered for a reply, found that—as usual—he'd managed to knock the wind clean out of her sails. She instead focused on scrubbing the skillet with renewed vigor.

   Stoker wisely backed off, plucking the squeaky-clean pan from her hands. He set it in the dish drainer, before pouring himself a cup of coffee from the new pot sitting on the brewer. He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy clink.

   "What's that?" Alley eyeballed it suspiciously. "Not more of your remedy, I hope."

   "Nope." He chuckled. "It's a gift. Throttle filled me in on what's goin' on around here."

   Alley's brow furrowed. "About … Charley and Vinnie?"

   His grin was slow and he chuckled softly. "Hmmm. Yeah, that, too. 'Bout damned time that punk made a move." He took another sip of coffee, considering. His grin widened. "Although, knowin' our Charley, she's probably the one who got fed up waitin' and made the first move on _him_."

   Alley shifted uncomfortably, making a show of folding the damp dish towel and draping it over the dish drainer in the sink. She really didn't want to bring up that particular subject again. It was pretty clear that she was the only one who seemed to have any problem with it, and the unease set her stomach to roiling, especially at the thought of Charley being the one to instigate … _whatever_ it was between her and Vinnie. She could feel Stoker's shrewd gaze on her back, patiently waiting for her to speak, and pressed her lips together.

 _Not that it'll fool him,_ she thought. _Isn't that how the song goes? Silence speaks a thousand words?_ She turned slowly, leaning against the counter as she forced herself to meet his eyes. "I'm not … _comfortable_ with the idea. Of them being … _together_ ," she hedged, voice laced with unease.

   He nodded at her to continue, expression blank.

   "It's not just because she's interested in a giant talking _mouse_. It's also because she's interested in a giant talking mouse who possesses the attention span of a doorknob."

   Stoker, in the midst of another swallow of coffee, choked as an unexpected laugh caught him by surprise. He coughed for a few moments to clear his throat, thumping his chest with a fist as he continued to chortle. "'S a good way to put it," he wheezed around his chuckles. "I outta at least try 'n defend the rookie, but I'd be lyin' if I said it wasn't true."

   His amusement was contagious and she found herself trying to suppress a grin. "See? Even _you_ admit it," she huffed. "I don't think a guy as self-obsessed as him is good for _anyone_. If she had to fall for one of you, why couldn't it have been Throttle, or Modo? At the very least, _they're_ a lot more dependable."

   "Hey, now. I notice you left my name outta there. You sayin' I'm not dependable?" he teased.

   "You yourself admitted you taught Vinnie 'everything he knows'. What do you think?" she deadpanned, earning another laugh. She sighed, amusement fading, and looked down at her hands, idly picking at the chipping polish on her thumb. "I just … don't want it to be like it was before, with Jack," she confessed. "I don't want Charley to end up hurt if something goes wrong. And there is _so much_ that could go horribly wrong if she pursues this."

   She jumped when two big hands came to rest on her shoulders, cupping her neck. Startled, she looked up to meet Stoker's serious gaze, shivering as his thumbs lightly caressed her jawline. "I told you already, it's sweet of you to worry about your cousin, but ultimately useless," he said gently. "She's a grown woman with a good head on her shoulders, and what _you_ need to do is start trustin' that she knows what she's doin'. It ain't like she's goin' into this whole thing blind and deaf. She's as aware of the risks as you are, an' the fact she's choosin' to get involved anyway says a whole lot about how serious she is."

   "Yeah, Throttle already gave me this lecture," she muttered, annoyed. "But that's the whole problem. Charley might be plenty serious, but what about _him_? He doesn't strike me as the commitment type. He seems a lot more like the love 'em and leave 'em type to me."

   "And maybe at some point he was. But if it makes you feel better, I'm thinkin' he's plenty serious about Charley-girl. She ain't the kind of gal a mouse just tosses aside when he's tired of her." His mouth twitched into a smile. "She can handle a bazooka with the best of 'em, for one thing. Vinnie'd be a fool to piss her off that badly."

   She huffed a short laugh, lips curling, and his expression softened. "There now. That's more like it." One hand slid up to cup her cheek, which warmed noticeably beneath his palm as she flushed, embarrassed by his entirely-too-close proximity. "Don't worry your pretty head about those two," he murmured. "They'll work out their own issues just fine."

   She shifted uncomfortably as he seemed to draw even closer, his head lowering slightly. She found herself caught in his deep gaze; dark, enigmatic eyes the color of cherry wood held hers as warm, coffee-scented breath ghosted across her lips. Her heart thudded loudly as the rich scent of hay and sunshine tickled her senses.

   And her hand curled into a tight fist as the faintest touch of soft fur brushed her mouth…

   Until the moment was shattered as effectively as a brick thrown through a window by the loud, obnoxious clearing of a throat behind them.

   Alley squealed in shock, instinctively shoving an equally-startled Stoker away from her as she tried to bolt in the other direction. Unfortunately, his tail—which had at some point wound itself tightly about her ankle—kept her from getting very far. She found herself sprawling on the hard floor with a pained _oomph_ as what little air remained in her lungs left them in a rush. She lay there for a second, stunned, gasping, wondering what the _hell_ had almost just _happened_. Then she flipped over to find Charley standing over her, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, a grin twitching at her lips as her sharp gaze bounced back and forth between them. "Did I disrupt something?" she asked, all innocence.

   "Yep," Stoker snorted, while at the same time Alley yelped, " _No!_ "

   The grin widened. "Well? Which is it?"

   Alley, still flushed, glanced at Stoker and quickly away again, staring instead at her knee, which had started to bleed from a thin slice across the skin. "Band-aid," she muttered, climbing to her feet and bolting for the safety of the bathroom.

   Charley watched her go, then turned back to Stoker and shook her head. "What are you doing to that poor girl?" she sighed, sounding more amused than exasperated.

   He shrugged. "Just tryin' to help out in my own way." He winked. "Showin' her the charms of bein' with a Martian mouse."

   "That's sweet, Stoke, but I don't think she's ready to accept your 'charms' just yet," she replied dryly.

   He shrugged, looking smug. "Seemed pretty receptive to me."

   "Uh-huh." She shot him a droll glance. "From my point of view, it looked more like she was _receptively_ gearin' up to deliver a hard punch to your soft little nose. Good thing I was there to step in and save your ego for you."

   He snorted, clearly disbelieving. She laughed. "I'm tellin' you, _don't_ underestimate her. She dislocated a guy's shoulder once, for gettin' too fresh when she wasn't interested. _That_ takes a certain amount of strength, ya know." She picked up the half-empty mug, took a sip and grimaced, before dumping the cooled contents and pouring fresh coffee into it. "Come to think of it, that's why she got kicked out of the self-defense class she was takin'. Little perv was the star pupil _and_ the teacher's son." She chuckled. "Her mom was horrified. Her dad couldn't have been prouder."

   Stoker raised both eyebrows, grinning. "Well, that just makes it all the more fun."

   "What? Gettin' your clock cleaned by a little girl?" she teased, nudging him in the side as she handed him the cup. She held onto it when he tried to take it, though, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were serious. "Honestly, Stoke. Don't play with her," she warned. "She isn't some bimbo off the streets, she's my cousin. And I don't wanna see _her_ get hurt any more than she wants to see _me_ get hurt. Got it?"

   He smiled, gently ruffling her hair. "Understood, Chief," he replied. "I promise not to go overboard."

   She waited for more, and when nothing else was forthcoming, huffed an exasperated sigh. "And that's all the promise I'm gettin' outta you, isn't it?"

   He chuckled. "What can I say? A mouse knows what he wants when he sees it, an' goes after it with everything he's got. Life's too short to waste holdin' back."

   She studied him. "You really serious about her?"

   He shrugged. "Who knows? But she's certainly got my attention."

   She smirked. "I gotta admit, in the years I've known you, I've _never_ seen you go after a female with this much … _enthusiasm_ before. I was startin' to think your womanizing reputation was a bit undeserved." She winked at him.

   "Oh, I've had my share of flings back in the day," he sniffed, crossing his arms. "One or two of 'em were even gettin' serious, b'fore I pulled the plug. My reputation is rightly earned, thanks very much."

   She rolled her eyes. "That ain't something to be proud of, you know. And it sure won't impress Alley."

   He sighed heavily, offering a helpless shrug. "What can ya do? A planetary war zone's hardly the right place t' settle down and raise a family. B'tween constant off-planet missions, leadin' the Freedom Fighters, knowin' there's someone waitin' for you to come home and wonderin' if this'll be your last mission…" He shrugged again. "Always just seemed more intelligent to cut and run. I never wanted to leave yet another widow behind. There're too many of 'em up there as it is." His eyes took on an unfocused, faraway look, recalling certain memories, and Charley's expression softened. She offered a sympathetic smile and a light caress over his cheek, trying to distract him from his sudden melancholy.

   It worked. He blinked, the sadness clearing from his expression as he straightened and offered a grin that seemed just a bit forced. "Anyway, there's a reason I came back," he told her. "Throttle radioed me and told me the good news 'bout you and Vinnie. I hear some congratulations are in order."

   She squirmed, embarrassed. "It's just … nothing really _happened_ ," she mumbled. "We both came to an _understanding,_ is all."

   "Bah." He gave her ear a playful tweak. "You ain't foolin' no one. You're so happy you're about ready to start climbin' the walls."

   She pouted at him. "Stop probin' at me. It ain't polite."

   He chuckled. "I don't have to. Yer practically shoutin' it from the rooftops," he teased. "Anyhow, I come bearing gifts. Thought you could use 'em. And it's traditional to give gifts on such a glad occasion."

   "Really." She eyed him skeptically. "Just for a pair of friends becomin' a couple?"

   "Weeelll…" He waved his hand in a so-so gesture. "There's a bit more involved than _that_ , but we'll just skip a few steps, right?" He nodded at the pouch sitting on the table. "Have a looksee an' tell me if you can use 'em."

   Well, _now_ he had her curiosity piqued. Charley opened the pouch and peered inside, and her eyes went wide as her jaw dropped in astonishment. Stoker grinned at her expression.

   "So. Will they help you out?" he asked, sipping his coffee.

   "Wha—These are—" She pulled out a large gemstone and held it up to the light. It looked like a sapphire, flashing with dark fire. "Jiminy _Christmas_ , is this thing _real_?"

   He chuckled. "Yep."

   She dug through the bag, eyes wide. "And all these others?"

   "Of course. I figure they're probably valuable. Most of 'em were set in jewelry, but I needed the metal for my … project. Not a lot of diamonds in there, either. I needed most of those, too. Sapphires and rubies, they don't focus energy as well as diamonds so they aren't any help to me."

   She frowned. "You building a super laser or something?"

   "Something like that." His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "You can probably sell 'em, right?"

   "Where did you _get_ them?"

   "Found these and a big stash of money in a cave a few years back, when I was scoutin' around further west for new work space. Think it must've been one of those old outlaw hideouts, like you see in the movies. There was all sorts of stuff in there; old guns, supplies, that sorta thing. Most've it was rotted out, but those jewels just needed a bit of cleanin' up, and they were good as new."

   "How is it nobody else ever stumbled into that cave in all these years?" Charley asked.

   "Cave-in," he grunted. "It was hidden pretty deep in the mountain, and the whole place was closed up. Figured by that point whoever'd left that stuff there wouldn't be needin' it anymore, so I helped myself. Didn't stay in the cave, though. Still too unstable to make a safe work environment."

   Charley sighed, dropping the gemstones back into the bag. "Stoke, this is incredibly generous of you, but there's no way I can accept this gift." She tried to hand the pouch to him, but he pushed it back into her hands.

   "Don't be stubborn," he scolded. "You need these more 'n I do. What am I gonna do with 'em? Not like I can walk into a store and sell 'em. But you can, and you can use that money to get your garage in order."

   Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "Alley been flappin' her gums again?"

   "Nope. Throttle," he replied easily.

   "I don't need charity," she snapped. "I spent ten years building this business. By myself. And I'll keep it goin' just like I always have. _By myself_. I know you mean well, but please just keep yourselves out of it." She slapped the pouch down on the table and turned to stalk out of the kitchen, heading back to the garage to reopen.

   Stoker sighed, running a hand over his face. "Well, _that_ went about as well as I'd expected," he snorted to himself.

   "I could've told you she wouldn't take 'em."

   He looked up to find Alley peeking around the corner at him, her expression blank. "Don't suppose you could—"

   "Nope. I can't." She smiled a little, moving further around the corner. "She's made it pretty clear she's not interested in anything I have to say about the matter."

   "I don't think it's your opinions that pissed her off. I think it's the fact you voiced 'em in front of the guys. That lady's got far too much pride for her own good. And I guess we all kinda treat her like a delicate little flower sometimes, and _that_ pisses her off, too, because we all know she's anything but."

   Alley hummed, stepping fully into the kitchen and picking up the pouch to riffle through it. She withdrew a pendant on a thick silver chain, set with a large sapphire and ringed in smaller diamonds. "Chris told me his step-mom has ties with the diamond exchange," she said thoughtfully, examining the stones. "She could probably get this stuff appraised. Maybe even find some buyers. The jewelry that's still intact is probably worth even more than the loose gems, just from age alone. Antiques are a big commodity among collectors."

   He shrugged. "Won't do much good if Charley won't accept 'em. Even if you went and sold 'em behind her back, she'd never take the money they bring in."

   "It is a conundrum."

   He raised an eyebrow. "You got any bright ideas?"

   She sighed, dropped the pendant into the pouch and leaned back against the table. "Not really, no. Nothing that wouldn't piss her off even more, anyway." She offered a shrug, and the bag of jewels.

   He held out a hand to stop her. "Keep 'em," he told her. "I don't need 'em."

   She blinked, astonished. "What'll _I_ do with them?"

   "Whatever you want. Sell 'em, wear 'em … they're yours now. Anyway, I'd like to stick around longer and talk, but I got some work that needs my attention, so I'll be goin' now."

   "What kind of work do you _do_ down here?" she asked, suspicious. "You're always coming and going, and nobody ever knows where."

   He pressed a finger to his mouth with a wink. "That's a secret."

   "Of course it is." She rolled her eyes. "Well, have fun plotting world domination or whatever. I got plenty of work of my own to do, so … you can see yourself out, I'm sure." She ducked under his hand when he tried to pet her hair, sauntering from the kitchen without a backward glance. He shook his head with a whimsical smile as he watched her go. Two steps forward … and a massive shove back.

   Sometimes the game could be as exasperating as it was fun. But that just made winning it all the more worthwhile in the end.


	17. Seventeen

   When Charley entered the apartment at the end of the day, she was greeted with the rich scent of chocolate. Her mouth watered as she inhaled deeply, and her stomach growled; she hadn't gotten around to lunch, after all. Or much of a breakfast, for that matter. "Is that chocolate cake I smell?" she called.

   The bathroom door opened and Alley's head popped out. "Better," she replied.

   "Better than chocolate cake?" Charley lifted one of the towels spread over a baking sheet, eyes widening at the sight of round, red cakes cooling on them. "Are those…?"

   "Red velvet whoopie pies. They were your favorite, right?" Alley approached with a grin, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves. The heavy scent of cleaning chemicals and air-freshener followed in her wake. "I still have to add the filling, yet."

   "Who needs filling?" Charley picked up a still-hot cake, juggling it between her hands, and took a large bite. She sighed blissfully. "Still as good as I remember!" She finished it off in two more bites, sucking the sticky crumbs from her fingers.

   "That's great, Charley, but now there's a pie without a top."

   "Oh, well, we can take care of that." She picked up another pastry and wolfed it down.

   Alley laughed. "I think those boys have been a bad influence on you," she teased.

   Her cousin just smirked. "So what brought on this rabid bout of baking?" She glanced at the four trays of cakes sitting on the table, waiting for their filling.

   Alley fidgeted. "I made them for you. As an apology," she admitted. "I'm sorry I said all those things in front of your friends. I wasn't trying to embarrass you or make you look bad or anything. I was just worried."

   Charley grinned and shrugged. "Well, no big surprise. The filter between your brain and your mouth never did work right."

   Alley stuck her tongue out, slapping Charley's hand away when she reached for another pie. "I'm being serious! I feel really bad about it."

   "Look, I'm honestly not _that_ upset. Just my pride got a little bruised, is all. But you know I'm not the type to hold grudges. Besides, _something_ good came from it."

   Alley raised an eyebrow when her cousin blushed faintly, a goofy smile spreading over her face. "You look like a teenager crushing on the hot guy in class," she teased.

   "He _is_ pretty hot," Charley agreed, laughing when Alley pulled a face. "Or maybe _older_ men are more your type," she added slyly, "given that little scene I walked in on this morning and all…"

   "That was—!" Alley blushed to the roots of her hair. "That was…"

   "Kinda hot, is what is was," Charley snickered. "Another second and the kitchen might've erupted in flames."

   "Another second and I'd have punched that letch through the wall!"

   "Hmmm." Charley eyed her cousin thoughtfully. "If you really _wanted_ to punch him, seems to me you'd 've done it."

   "What are you implying?" Alley huffed. "That I'm giving in to his charms? No way! I'm not into furries. Especially _old_ furries."

   Charley laughed. "So you admit he has _charms_ , eh?"

   " _What?_ That isn't—!" Alley pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, if you want to date Vinnie, that's all fine and dandy. Knock yourself out, I'm honestly happy that _you're_ happy. But _please_ just … don't…" She faltered, not wanting to upset her cousin all over again. "I'm not—"

   "Okay, okay. _Relax_ ," the mechanic soothed. "I was only teasing. I understand. I really do, and I promise not to say anything else about it, all right?" She drew a line across her lips, turning an imaginary key.

   "Thank you," Alley replied with a sigh, opening the fridge to grab a bowl full of whipped filling. She offered it with a sheepish smile. "Want to help me frost?"

   "Only if I get to lick the spatula."

   She snickered. "You're such a kid."

   "Damn straight. Keeps me young." Charley grinned and riffled around in the bottom cabinets until she unearthed an ancient Tupperware container. She pursed her lips, eyeballing the container, then the cakes. "Ummm … _pretty_ sure all these ain't gonna fit in here."

   "Is that the _only_ container you have?" Alley looked horrified.

   Charley chuckled. "I'm no master chef. Never needed more than one before."

   "I'm just gonna have to buy you the whole damn kitchen and be done with it," the blonde grumbled.

   "Like you can afford _that_."

   "I can with the jewels Stoker left behind."

   There was a marked silence; Alley reached up to pull down several dinner plates from the cabinet, deliberately ignoring the irritation on her cousin's face.

   "I told him I didn't want his charity!" Charley burst out.

   Alley pursed her lips, setting the plates down with a thunk and fixing her cousin with a hard stare. " _That's_ your ego talking. Can't you tell the difference between charity and a heartfelt gift? But, whatever. Since you didn't want it, he gave it to me, instead."

   "And you have no problems accepting handouts."

   "I fail to see how this is a handout," Alley replied, pulling a roll of wax paper from a drawer and tearing several sheets from it to line the plates. "He found the jewelry, didn't he? And he already took what he needed from it. The rest of the jewels are just junk to him. But they're worth a pretty penny to most humans. So, rather than tossing out some _incredibly_ valuable rocks, he deemed it more economical to give the rest to you, so you can take what _you_ need from them. I don't think that's charity so much as some pretty damned useful recycling."

   Charley opened and closed her mouth several times, trying for a retort, but finding none forthcoming. She huffed and picked up a well-worn spatula, using it to slap a large dollop of filling onto half of a pie. She used a little too much force, however; the pastry crumbled easily, leaving a red and white gooey mess sitting in her palm. She scowled down at it for a second, until a choked giggle had her switching her glare to Alley, instead, who was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. "Shut up," she grumbled, flinging the mess at her. It landed smack-dab in the center of Alley's chest, earning an outraged squeak.

   The tension broke as Charley broke into giggles of her own, her irritation melting away. "Okay," she admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I might have _possibly_ let my ego overrule my common sense on this subject, but it doesn't sit right with me to just be handed a huge amount of money like that." She sighed, turning on the sink to wash her hand off. "I busted my ass to get this garage up and running, and to keep it going despite _everything_ conspiring to shut me down. To accept help, no matter how well-intended, just feels too much like … giving up. Like admitting I can't do it."

   "Nobody would believe that," Alley scolded, dabbing at the frosting on her shirt. "Those guys wouldn't think less of you. You mean the world to them. They just want to help, the same way you've been helping them all this time. You consider each other family, right? Isn't family _supposed_ to support each other when it's needed?"

   "You make a good point," Charley conceded.

   "I've made a _lot_ of good points. You just didn't want to listen to them. And I guess that was my fault, too."

   "Well." Charley leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "I'm listening now. Do you have anything else to say about my business practices that you think I should know?"

   "Actually…" she hedged, "I think I've got an idea that might solve some of your problems. At least on a temporary basis."

   "Oh? Do tell."

   "Well, in regards to those gems, if you're _that_ determined to keep your garage running by yourself, why not just sell them and open a separate bank account with the money? It could be like a … a disaster relief fund or something."

   "A _what_?"

   "Give the _guys_ the money. They don't have any of their own, right? In that sense, they're _way_ worse off than you," Alley pointed out. "You can set up an account for them, under your name."

   "Okay…" Charley nodded. "And doing that would accomplish … _what_ , exactly?"

   Alley rolled her eyes. "Well, for one thing, if they put any more holes through your doors, or manage to blow up some of the much-needed equipment to do your work, they can actually _pay_ for it, for a change. Rather than you dipping into your own savings to cover replacement parts or whatever, dip into _theirs_ , instead." She held up a finger. "And also! Those fancy, highly-expensive upgrades you're always giving those bikes of theirs? You'll no longer have to pay for them yourself."

   "That doesn't seem right, making them pay for stuff I always offered for free," Charley protested.

   "What's the big deal? Not like they actually _earned_ any of that hypothetical money," Alley pointed out dryly.

   Well, Charley could hardly argue with _that_ logic. She huffed a laugh and shrugged. "I guess it's not bad, as far as ideas go," she grudgingly admitted. "It doesn't really work as a long-term solution, though."

   "Well, no, I did say it was temporary. Whatever money the gems bring in would run out eventually, but at least it'd give you a chance to catch up and rebuild your finances. Take some of the pressure off, for a while at least."

   Charley tapped her chin, staring into space as she thought. "I'll talk it over with the guys," she decided. "See what they think."

   "That mean you'll do it?"

   "I guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a try." She shrugged. "It'll get those furballs to stop nagging at me, if nothing else." She grinned and shook her head, shooting Alley an impressed glance. "Really, I dunno how you do it. First, getting them to eat something other than junk food, and now this. All these years with them constantly putting holes through my walls and _now_ they suddenly grow a conscience about it. Did you take a class or something? Guilt Trip 101?"

   Alley scoffed. "Please. Have you _met_ my mother? That woman's got guilt-tripping down to a science, and she's practiced on _me_ my entire life. Those guys never stood a chance!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally "the talk" is over. And yeah, some might think Charley let Alley off too easily, but I personally believe that she's a very forgiving person. I mean, look at how much crap she puts up with from the mice, constantly damaging her property and putting holes in the walls and all that! She doesn't even make them clean up after themselves half the time. The woman has the patience of a saint. lol
> 
> Also, I admit I had to chuckle a bit when I read a few comments about Stoker being kinda old for Alley. That might be, but my thoughts on the subject are this: if Alley can ever get past the fact that a giant, talking mouse is interested in pursuing her, I'm preeeetty sure his age isn't gonna bother her overmuch by that point. ^_~


	18. Eighteen

    Charley draped her arms over the back of the sofa, sipping her coffee as she watched her cousin race back and forth, preparing for her first day of school. Vinnie sat beside her on the couch, and Modo and Throttle were in the kitchen, taking surreptitious glances around the doorway as they cleaned up the breakfast dishes. All three mice seemed completely mystified by Alley’s behavior.

    When she headed down the hall, abruptly stopped halfway, and turned around to make a beeline back to her bedroom, Charley couldn’t take it anymore.

    “Alley. _Alley!_ ”

    The frazzled blonde screeched to a halt, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. “What?”

    “Will you please _relax_?” Charley held up her mug with a grin. “You’re makin’ my coffee very nervous.”

    Alley blinked, then broke into a sheepish grin of her own. “Sorry. It’s just … _I’m_ nervous. And excited. And _nervous_.”

    “What’s the big deal?” Vinnie scoffed. “It’s just school. Ain’t that a normal thing around here?”

    “It’s not _just_ school. It’s _college_. It’s like … like jumping from the little leagues straight into the big ones!” Alley protested.

    “That’s right, boys. Our little Alley has to put on her big girl panties now. She’s playin’ with the _grownups_ ,” Charley teased.

    “You, shush!”

    A pair of balled-up socks was launched her way, almost landing in the mug. Charley managed to catch them without spilling _too_ much coffee, and tossed them back. “And why are you taking an extra pair of socks?” she asked curiously.

    Alley blinked down at them, then threw her arms into the air. “I don’t know!” she wailed as she stomped back to her room.

    Charley leaned her forehead against the couch and laughed.

    “Is she gonna be okay?” Modo asked with amused concern.

    “Don’t worry, big guy. First day jitters.” She offered a reassuring grin. “We all got ‘em. College _is_ kind of a big deal, and I think her parents are expecting a lot from her, especially her mom.”

    “Did you attend college?” Throttle wanted to know.

    “Hmmm.” She finished off her coffee; Vinnie instantly got to his feet to fetch her a refill, and she offered a grateful smile along with the mug. “Sort of,” she replied to Throttle’s question. “I graduated high school a few years ahead of everyone else my age, and I took some courses at a local technical school, just to supplement my knowledge and get an official business degree. I’ve always known what I wanted to do, though, and I already had the work experience, thanks to my dad and uncle. So I never felt the need for the whole college thing like Alley’s doing. Still, I do know how it feels, moving out on your own for the first time and all. It is exciting, and kinda scary. Nobody’s there to hold your hand anymore, ya know?”

    “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll always hold your hand when ya need it.” Vinnie plopped down beside her, handing her the mug and taking her free hand to press a soft kiss into her palm. His red eyes glowed with impish humor as she blushed at his charming actions. Throttle and Modo looked at each other knowingly and grinned.

    Alley made a reappearance, dragging a large, rolling backpack behind her that looked a bit like a miniature, bag-shaped version of her van. She set the gaudy pack by the stairway.

    “Are you bringing your entire library?” Charley asked, amused.

    “They’re my textbooks. And my computer.”

    “Do you need all the books? That’s a lot of extra weight to drag around. What classes do you have today?”

    “Lessee … Schedule…” Alley frowned. “Schedule…?” She patted herself down, eyes widening. “Schedule!” She turned on her heel and made a mad dash for her room, much to the amusement of her audience.

    “Girl’s gonna give herself a stroke before she makes it out the door,” Throttle observed with a chuckle, shaking his head.

    She reappeared with a thick yellow envelope and her phone. “I need a favor. Can someone take my picture? Mom demands pictures of my first day. I’ll never hear the end of it if she doesn’t get any.” She offered the phone with a pleading expression.

    Laughing, Charley held out her hand, but Throttle intercepted. “Stand with her. I’ll take one of you together,” he said.

    “Great idea!” Alley grabbed her cousin by the arm and hauled her to the bare wall. “Say cheese!” she teased, giggling at Vinnie’s snort.

    Charley stood stiffly and managed an awkward smile, clearly not used to being in front of a camera. Alley, on the other hand, snapped off a playful pose, flashing a double thumbs-up with a brilliant grin, hamming it up with practiced ease. The flash went off, and she relaxed, accepting the phone from Throttle. “Thanks!” She studied at the picture. “Hey, this thing has a great camera. Charley, why do you look constipated?”

    “Oh, shut up.” The mechanic laughed as she delivered a playful shove.

    “Is someone honking outside?” Modo rumbled, head cocking to the side as he listened. They fell silent, and in another moment, the faint sound of a car horn drifted in through the open window.

    “Oh! That must be Chex.” Alley slipped the phone into her pocket. “She’s giving me a ride to the campus today, since we have some of the same classes.”

    “Not Chris?” Charley slid her a coy glance.

    “I think he would’ve, except Chex beat him to it,” Alley replied with a laugh, hoisting the heavy bag onto her shoulder.

    “That was nice of her.”

    “Nah. She only offered ‘cause she’s hoping I’ll convince one of you guys to give her a ride on your bikes.”

    They all stared at her. She flashed a hopeful grin. “Just one? Doesn’t have to be far. Around the block, even. Oh, and when I say ‘one of you’, I’m _pretty_ sure she means you, specifically.” She turned her smile on Modo, who straightened at the sudden attention.

    “Why me?” he asked, confused.

    “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause you saved her life? And she’s got a serious case of hero-worship as a result?”

    He looked flustered as Throttle and Vinnie snickered behind his back. “I’ll, uh, think about it.”

    The horn sounded again, sounding even more impatient. “Alright, I’m comin’!” Alley huffed to no one in particular as she bounded down the stairs.

    The four of them stared after her for a moment, before Charley sniggered. “So,” she began amicably, “bets on how long it takes her to figure out she’s not wearing shoes?”

* * *

    “You’re such a blonde,” Chex snorted as Alley slid into the passenger seat of the little, silver-blue Accent (after scrambling back up the stairs to retrieve her shoes amid hoots of laughter from the peanut gallery).

    “Yeah, yeah. Just drive,” she grumbled, hauling her heavy pack into the car with her. “Sweet little ride, by the way. I sorta figured you'd drive up in a hearse or something.”

    “Don't I wish.” Chex pulled a face. “The step monster gave it to me. Said I needed a reliable car that’s good on gas mileage.”

    “She _gave_ you a _car_?”

    “Yeah, she’s the type who likes to buy her way into the hearts of children.” Chex sniggered. “Hey, a free car is a free car. I just make sure I park it _way_ back so people don’t see me in it. It totally does _not_ fit my image.” She was silent a few minutes, before sliding Alley a sideways glance. “Sooooo … did you ask ‘im?”

    Alley laughed. “He said he’d think about it. Keep badgering him; I think you’re wearing him down. He's not the type to turn down a lady's request.”

    “Sweet.”

    “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Since we were speaking of step monsters, Chris said yours works a lot with jewelry appraising and stuff. Do you think she could help me and Charley out? We got some antique jewelry and loose gems and wanted to try and sell ‘em, but we need to know the value and find buyers and stuff.”

    “Yeah? What do you got?”

    Alley opened the front pocket of her bag, withdrawing the sapphire and diamond necklace Stoker had left behind. “Here’s an example.”

    Chex’s eyes widened as she took a good look; quickly turned her attention back to the road when someone honked loudly. “Holy _shit_ , is that thing _real_?”

    “As far as I know.”

    “Where’d you get it?”

    “It was a gift from Stoker.”

    “Some gift! And you say there's more?”

    “Yeah. I guess precious gems and stuff aren't worth much to the mice. Stoker got what he needed from 'em—like the gold and most of the diamonds—and handed the rest over. Good thing, too, 'cause Charley could really use the money they'd bring in.”

    “She in trouble or something?”

    “Or something. Can't really talk about it. But do you think your step-mom could help out?”

    “Yeah, sure.” Chex shrugged. “I guess you can try and arrange a meeting with Victoria. I’ll give you the number to her office and tell Chris to let her know you’ll be calling. She'd probably be more open to helping if the request comes from him. She doesn't like most of my friends.”

    Alley didn't quite know what to say to that. “Well, thanks, that’ll be really helpful. I'm sure Charley and the guys'll be grateful, too.”

    “Cool. Think it’ll earn me some points toward scoring a ride?”

    Alley laughed and rolled her eyes.

* * *

    Chex showed Alley the most direct way to get to the main campus through Chicago, warning her to leave at least two hours ahead of time to avoid any potential delays such as mid-town traffic jams. Most of the professors did not take kindly to tardy students, and wouldn't let her into the class if she arrived late, no matter what sort of excuse she had. Luckily, they had no such issues, and made it to the campus with plenty of time to spare. They parted ways in the parking lot with promises to meet for lunch, as their first classes were in different buildings. Alley used the opportunity to give herself another lightning tour of the campus; now that the maps had all been switched back to their proper places, it was much easier to figure out where she was. She also made a mental note to check out the secondary campus in the middle of the city, where her first business classes would be held the following day.

    However, it shortly became apparent that she wouldn't be taking those business courses any time soon. Or any of her other courses, for that matter. No sooner had she signed in on the roster and chosen a seat, the young student assistant taking attendance called her back to the desk.

    "Sorry, Miss Davidson, but your name isn't on my list," he began, his bored tone suggesting that this wasn't the first time he'd had to make this announcement to a new pupil. "This is Music Composition 101. Check your schedule."

    Alley clenched her teeth, annoyed by the insinuation that she'd gone to the wrong class. "No need. I know my schedule," she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. No need to take it out on him; he was just doing his job, after all, and she didn't doubt he'd already had to send other students on their way to the correct classrooms. But she wasn't one of them, darn it!

    At his obvious skepticism, she pulled the thick envelope from her bag and riffled until she found her schedule, handing it over with pursed lips. "Right there.” She tapped the page. “Music Composition at ten o'clock. Room 317."

    He glanced over it, handed it back with a shrug. "Must be a scheduling error. You'll have to take it up with the office." He went back to his roster, a clear dismissal.

    She stared at him. "What, you mean … _now_? But class is about to start!"

    He shrugged again. "Sorry, but the rules are if you're not on the roster, you can't attend the class. Better get it figured out and make sure there aren't any other conflicts." Seeing her expression, he softened. "Look, Professor MacDougall is running late today. Her kid has an ear infection or something and her nanny just quit on her. I'm taking over for her until she can get here. The class lasts two hours. You can probably get it sorted in more than enough time. Come back with a note from the office, and I'll let you sit in the remaining time. If Professor MacD shows up, I'll explain the situation."

    "Yeah, okay. I'll do that." Alley wasn't very happy with the solution, but at least he was trying to help. She hoisted her heavy bag and started for the office, grumbling to herself. What a way to start off her college career!

* * *

    "What do you _mean_ my scholarship's been revoked?"

    Alley gaped at the secretary, wondering if she'd started hallucinating for some reason. Delayed effects of Stoker's miracle cure, by chance? She would _skin that mouse alive_ when she saw him again!

    The secretary—Her name was Mary, Alley recalled—was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, tapping away at the computer and nervously adjusting her wire-framed glasses. "Um, you see, there has been some discrepancy with your SAT scores—"

    "What _kind_ of discrepancy?" Alley growled. "I passed those tests with more than enough points to earn my scholarship! I studied my _ass_ off to get those scores!"

    "Please lower your voice, Miss Davidson." Looking distressed, Mary adjusted her glasses again. "You see, I am very sorry, but there appears to be some … concern over how you … _acquired_ your high scores."

    Alley's eyes narrowed. " _I. Studied._ "

    "Are you certain that is the only way you passed?"

    She felt like she'd just been kicked in the gut. "Are you actually accusing me of _cheating_?"

    Mary cleared her throat. "Please, lower your voice," she repeated, more firmly. "The fact is, through most of your academic history, your scores have always been … less than spectacular." She adjusted her glasses yet again; Alley was sorely tempted to rip them off her face and stomp on them. "Yet you managed to pass your SATs with scores that put you within the top _fifteen percent_ of the entire _country_. That is no simple feat. You must realize how … _suspicious_ it all looks."

    "Slacking off does _not_ make me a cheater," Alley hissed. "I was just lazy. I never cheated on anything in my life! And I'll have you know that in my last two years, I completely turned it around, got As and Bs in all of my classes. Or does that not count for anything?"

    Mary pursed her lips, then calmly swiveled her computer monitor until it faced Alley. Puzzled, she gave it a cursory glance. And then her jaw dropped as what she was seeing registered.

    It was her permanent school record. Only it _wasn't_. All four of her high school years were displayed clearly on the screen, except that for two of them, the high scores that _should_ have been there seemed to have been replaced with grades that could only be described as abysmal. Even her art and writing classes—her favorite subjects in school—barely covered passing ground.

    "Are you _kidding_ me?" she screeched, ignoring the secretary's glare. "With scores like that I wouldn't have even passed _high school,_ much less made it into college!"

    "Yes, that is exactly my point," Mary replied primly.

    Alley massaged her temple, where a headache was steadily forming. "And you seem to be completely missing _mine_ ," she growled. "Those are _not_ my grades. I've been … set up or something!"

    "Why would anyone set you up?" The secretary looked more than a little skeptical.

    "I don't know!" Alley threw her hands into the air. "Maybe some bored student decided to play a mean prank and picked me at random. It happens, right? That thing with the maps? And it's not like computers can't be hacked or anything!"

    "Our system security is top notch. Not just anyone can break into it." Mary looked offended at the very suggestion; Alley decided that mentioning how easily her cousin could probably break in wouldn't really help her case at the moment.

    "Then it's some bizarre glitch in the system," she muttered, struggling to think of any answer. "I took those tests a year ago. If I'd really cheated, wouldn't someone have figured it out way before now? I mean, I was in here with the dean's kids last week filling out forms! Remember? Why didn't you bring up this situation _then_? It sure would've saved me a lot of hassle _now_."

    _Finally_ , a hint of doubt in the secretary's eyes, before her expression firmed. "I am very sorry for all of this trouble, Miss Davidson. I promise I will look into the matter and see if it can be resolved in a satisfactory manner."

    "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Can I go back to class?"

    "I'm sorry, but that just isn't possible at this time. As I said, your funding has been revoked. All of your classes have been canceled. Until this situation is resolved, policy states that you cannot attend this school."

    Alley started to panic. "But keeping my scholarship depends on me maintaining my grade point average! If I can't attend those classes, I'll flunk out by default, and I'll lose it all anyway, even if I manage to get it back! It could take weeks to get it all sorted. It'll all be for nothing!"

    Mary was sympathetic, but unwavering. Alley realized she would be getting no more help out of her, turned and trudged from the office as the churning mass of dread, confusion and defeat sat like a sick lump in her gut.

    All she could think of was how in the world she was _ever_ going to explain this to her parents.


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is VERY long, and contains a bit of mild adult content. Doesn't go beyond PG13 I don't think, but it does push it a little. You've been warned. ;)
> 
> Also ... some character death. *hides*

     Charley was waist-deep in the posterior of Alley's bus when the sound of an approaching car caught her attention. Pulling out and wiping her filthy hands on a well-used towel, she watched as a taxi pulled up to the garage. And both eyebrows shot into her hairline when, after a moment, the door opened and Alley struggled out into the street, dragging her pack after her. She looked as if the entire world had just collapsed around her ears.

    “Jiminy Christmas, Alley Cat! Who died?” Alarmed, Charley hurried forward to usher her drooping cousin out of the heat. The guys also stopped what they were doing, watching the exchange with concern etched on their fuzzy faces.

    “My entire academic career, apparently,” Alley mumbled with a tired sigh.

    Charley paused mid-step, exchanging confused glances with the mice. “…Huh?”

    The blonde dropped into the desk chair and ran her hands through her hair; taking a deep breath, she began to explain the situation, and by the time she’d finished, Charley was livid.

    “They can’t—This isn’t—You didn’t—We can’t just let this go!” she sputtered, pacing angrily around the garage, shrugging off Vinnie’s comforting hand. “You never would have cheated! Never! And it’s just too suspicious that this all came up now.”

    “Yeah,” Modo agreed, tail twitching with agitation. “Somebody’s definitely settin’ you up, and it’s got ol’ Lard Butt's stench _all_ over it.”

    “But why? What would Limburger possibly gain from ruining my chances at a scholarship and my academic reputation?”

    Throttle huffed. “She’s got a point. The stinkfish’s pulled some pretty crazy stunts, but it’s always been for some sorta profitable gain. This just ain’t his style.”

    They fell silent, considering. Alley finally sighed and forced herself to her feet. “My best guess is, it’s just a prank some bored jerk played, and I got unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it. I’ve gotta go do some damage control. This has gotta get sorted out as soon as possible or I can kiss that scholarship goodbye for real.” She groaned and hid her face in her hands. “ _And_ I’ve gotta call my _mother_.”

    “Ouch.” Charley offered a sympathetic smile. “Want some moral support?”

    She huffed a short laugh. “Give me a few hours. If I’m not down by sunset, better come search for my body. She probably managed to find a way to strangle me through the phone.”

* * *

    Throttle knocked at Alley’s door, his concern growing at her continuing silence from the other side. He increased the pressure of his fist against the wood until he finally heard her stirring, then a mumbled “Come in”. He poked his head through the doorway, watching as she sat up and scrubbed at her eyes, which looked red and blotchy even in the dim light. He gulped, the urge to turn tail and bolt settling over him, but he ignored the desire to flee and instead stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He stood there, shifting uncomfortably as he struggled to find the right thing to say. He _really_ hated dealing with crying women.

    Alley noticed his fidgeting and gave him a weak smile. She’d changed into a tank top and a pair of lounge pants. Her hair hung in two long braids over her shoulders, and she’d washed the makeup off her face, leaving it strangely pale and bare, the dark circles under her eyes standing in stark contrast. Throttle thought she looked young and very vulnerable without her usual armor to fortify her. His protective finally instincts rose. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

    She offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Been better,” she admitted, running a hand through her hair, dislodging part of a braid. “I’ve been on the phone for hours, making calls. Never talked so much in my life. I’m _tired_.”

    He hummed, stepping further into the room. “You talk to your folks?”

    “I called my dad first and explained. He told my mom for me. Who then proceeded to call me back and rip me a new one.”

    Throttle straightened, frowning. “Why? This isn’t your fault.”

    She sighed heavily. “I dunno. Maybe it is. When I was younger, I really slacked off in school. Hardly studied, barely passed my tests, handed in homework when I felt like it. I didn’t put in any real effort and my grades suffered as a result. I just … didn’t care.” She smiled faintly. “I guess I was more interested in fitting in with my friends, who all would've rather been sneaking out to late-night movies or parties down on the beach. Drove my parents nuts.” At his dubious expression, she hastened to add, “I was never into anything illegal! Well … okay, I _did_ drink a bit, and I snuck into R-rated movies without paying a few times. But I didn’t shoplift or use drugs or sleep around with guys or stuff like that. My girlfriends, though. Most of them were pretty hardcore.”

    He tsked. “Sounds like you needed to get some new friends.”

    She huffed. “ _You_ sound like my parents,” she shot back, wrinkling her nose. She sat back with a sigh. “Thing is, in Montana, all that never really interested me. I might not look it now, but I used to be a _lot_ like Charley. I rode horses and climbed trees and went camping in the woods. I tinkered around in the garage on bicycles for my friends and helped my dad and uncle fix engines. I did my homework and studied for my tests and got good grades.” She smiled faintly at the memories.

    “When Dad packed up and moved us to Florida, it was like … like moving to an alien _planet_.” She smirked when he snorted. “Everything was so _different_. The first few years weren’t so bad, but then I hit puberty and started … growing parts, and the only things my friends ever talked about were boyfriends and fashion and celebrities… I didn't really care about that stuff, but I felt like I either had to make myself fit in, or lose the friends I had. And after awhile, it all sorta became second nature.”

    Throttle moved to sit on the edge of the bed, curious despite himself. At last, he was discovering the mystery of why Alley was so different from her cousin, despite being raised in the same sort of household. He tried to picture her as a younger version of Charley, scrappy and tomboyish. He gave it up after a few moments. It was just impossible; she’d adapted herself too well. “So, something changed along the way,” he hinted, wanting to know more.

    “I flunked out of tenth grade,” she admitted with a huff. “Well, almost. I had to take summer classes to make up all the work I missed. A lot of them. And my dad finally sat me down and gave me a long lecture.” She shook her head with a whimsical smile. “Let me tell you, I thought my mother could guilt trip, but she’s got _nothin’_ on Daddy. He’s pretty laid back and easygoing, but when he decides to lay into you, _look out._ ”

    Throttle grinned, earning another small smile in response. “After that,” she continued, “I realized I didn’t want to disappoint him anymore. I don’t want to be a daughter who embarrasses him, makes him ashamed to talk about me. So, for those summer classes, I managed to pull my grades up enough to pass tenth grade, and when my junior year started, I made myself work. Skipped all those parties and stayed home to study and do all my homework, and my grades shot up. It wasn’t easy. I had to break a lot of bad habits. But I did it.”

    “I can see why this whole situation is so upsetting for you,” Throttle said thoughtfully, “but I still don’t see how it makes it your fault.”

    “My parents always told me my behavior would come back someday and bite me in the ass. Karmic justice and all that. Mom spent most of our conversation saying ‘I told you so’.” Alley rolled her eyes. “I kinda feel like she’s right.”

    “She's too hard on you,” Throttle protested, tail twitching against the floor. “We all do stupid shit as kids, right?”

    “Sure, but she’s always been hard on me. She's very overprotective. She’s _not_ a bad mother, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that her life, growing up … it wasn’t easy. She went through a lot, had a lot of struggles before meeting Dad. She doesn’t want me to end up like she nearly did.” Alley smiled faintly. “To be fair, after she got through yelling at me, she started threatening to march straight to the heads of the school board and rip _them_ a new one, too. And she says she’ll FedEx some of my old reports and any other paperwork she can dig up to prove my grades had been changed. Hell, knowing her, she’ll have half of Florida rallying in my defense by the end of the week. _Nobody_ messes with her baby.”

    “So your parents will help you get all this sorted.”

    “Yeah.” She sighed heavily, her good humor vanishing. “Dad told me to accept that I might not be getting back to school this year, though. He also suggested I retake the SATs. Said it might help to prove I didn’t cheat the first time.” Her shoulders slumped. “I guess he’s probably right, but the thought of going through all that again is just _exhausting_.”

    “Well, it’s something, at least. It ain’t the end of the world, Alley-girl,” Throttle tried to encourage. “How come you look like your best friend just died?”

    She flinched, looking startled. Then she dropped her face into her hands as a low, derisive laugh slipped free. He frowned, wondering what he’d said to incite such a reaction.

    “D’you ever get the feeling,” she mumbled into her hands, “that the entire _universe_ is out to turn your life into one great, big cosmic joke?”

    He hesitated, confused … until she gestured vaguely at Mercedes’s cage. He glanced down, noted the door was half-open. His eyes widened as his gaze darted around the room, noting any place that a little rat could squeeze into and escape. Until he realized she was still in the cage, half-curled in her pile of shredded paper, still and unmoving.

    Far too still.

    His heart gave a sick sort of lurch as he knelt on the floor for a better look. “Aw, Cheese,” he breathed. “Alley-girl, I’m—I didn’t mean—”

    She waved off his fumbled attempts to apologize. “Mercy was almost four years old. That’s like … _ancient_ in rat years,” she explained, her voice small and tight. “I probably shouldn’t have brought her with me, but my mom didn’t really like her and my dad is too busy with his business, you know? My friends, well, I wouldn’t trust most of them to care for a _houseplant_ , much less a living creature.” Her face crumpled a bit. “I went to feed her and … she just wouldn’t wake up. I wonder how long she’s been like this. This morning I—” She choked slightly. “If she was dead then, I didn’t even notice. I feel _awful_. I don’t even remember if she ate when I gave her pellets this morning.”

    “It ain’t your fault,” he told her, feeling lame for even saying something so trite.

    “I knew she was going to die eventually. She was really starting to show her age. She even hissed at me a few times, like she didn't know me.” She offered a weak smile. “Just … she had to go today of _all_ days? Cosmic joke, see?” She heaved a long sigh, tucking her knees under her chin as she perched on the edge of the bed. “I guess now I have to find a place to bury her, too. I don’t even know where to look. I can’t just … toss her into the garbage.”

    Throttle considered. “You got a box for her or something?”

    She slid off the bed and knelt beside him on the floor, sliding a shoebox filled with folded paper towels forward. She reached into the cage, hesitated. Throttle noted a fine tremor in her hand as it hovered over Mercedes’s body. “I … I can’t make myself touch her again,” she finally admitted, blinking rapidly. “She’s so … _cold_. It gives me the creeps. I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

    Throttle patiently pulled her hand away, reached in to ever-so-gently scoop the stiff little body into his palm, depositing it and a handful of shavings into the box. He didn’t much like rats, but for the first time he was sorry to see one die. Alley covered her pet with clean wood shavings before closing the box and taping the lid shut.

    “Come on.” He stood, tucking the makeshift coffin under his arm, offered a hand to pull her to her feet. “Put on your shoes and a jacket. Might get cold,” he instructed.

    Mystified, she nevertheless obeyed, slipping on a pair of Vans and a long blue hoodie sweater as she followed him down to the garage. “Where is everyone?” she asked, noting the complete absence of people. The clock on the wall read six-thirty, well before closing time.

    “Out doin’ a little recon,” he replied with a chuckle. “Charley-girl decided to take it on herself to get a look at that computer an’ see what’s up.”

    Alley gaped. “ _They’re breaking into the school files?_ ”

    “Not all of ‘em. Just yours. If it’s been hacked, it can probably be traced. Charley'll figure it out.”

    “Unless she gets caught and arrested, first. It isn’t exactly _legal_ , you know.”

    “Neither is goin’ into a student’s files an’ changin’ all their grades, right? Don’t worry, she does this sorta stuff all the time.”

    “Oh, _that_ makes me feel better.” She pursed her lips and eyeballed him. “And poor you got stuck babysitting me. Again.”

    “I was actually plannin’ to invite you along. But this is a bit more important right now. They can do without us.” He carefully stashed the box in a compartment on the bike and held out a second helmet. “Hop on.”

    She hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure, why not,” she sighed. “The day I’ve been having, what else could _possibly_ go wrong?” She seated herself gingerly behind him and jammed the helmet over her head, jumped a little when his long tail coiled tightly around her waist.

    “Better hang on,” he warned, and she caught his devilish grin right before the engine roared to life. The heavy door rattled open, and they shot out of the garage with a screech of rubber, Alley’s squeal of fright lingering in the air behind them.

* * *

    Throttle navigated Chicago’s busy streets with practiced ease as Alley clung to him for dear life, afraid she'd be thrown from the cycle despite the firm grip he maintained around her waist, and her even firmer grip around his chest. She wasn’t sure whether or not to be glad they were racing at such a breakneck speed. On one hand, riding with one of the biker mice was pretty much as terrifying as she’d imagined. On the other, at this speed, it was a lot harder for people to notice that she was out gallivanting around the city in nothing but her pajamas. She hadn’t even bothered to put her _bra_ back on, a mistake she was kicking herself over. She _really_ hoped her chauffeur wouldn’t notice, as tightly as she was clinging to him.

    It wasn’t long before they passed the city limits, and soon after that they reached open highway and the heavy traffic began to lighten. That’s when he _really_ let loose; the bike shot forward in the same manner as a racing horse being given its head. Alley squeaked and tightened her hold, and Throttle’s husky chuckle piped through the intercom in her helmet.

    Despite the increased speed, the ride was a lot smoother without the constant sharp dodging and weaving he’d been doing inside the city. She found herself slowly relaxing, arms loosening. The wind cut around them, tearing at her hair and clothes, but being pressed so close to his large, furry body provided more than adequate heat. She rested her head against his back and breathed deeply, closing her eyes and starting to enjoy the ride.

    Eventually, she noticed a change in speed; he slowed, took a seemingly random exit off the highway. He drove a little further before turning off the main road onto seemed to be an unpaved back road. The ride was rougher here as the bike kicked up dust and loose stones, bouncing over uneven ruts. She tucked her legs further up to protect them from flying debris. “Where are we going?” she asked.

    “You’ll see in a second.”

    True to word, he shortly turned off the road and coasted to a stop. She slid off the bike, trying to stomp some feeling back into her shaky legs as she steadied herself against the seat. She gave the crankshaft a little pat. “Thanks for the ride,” she said awkwardly. “You're, um, a good driver. Hope that road wasn't too hard on your suspension.”  

    The bike gave a short, sharp beep in reply, making her jump, then laugh. “I'm never gonna get used to that,” she said, mirroring Throttle's grin. Her smile faded when she got her first view of their destination, eyes widening as she took in a large, sparkling lake surrounded by trees. “Wow, where are we?”

    “Me ‘n the bros found this place a few years back. Well, Limburger found it, actually. We had to save it from bein’ ripped up and shipped off to Plutark. We come out here from time t’ time when we need to relax and unwind. There’s usually nobody else here.”

    “Kinda like a secret hideout?” she teased.

    “Heh. Something like that.” He removed the box from its compartment. “Figured it’d be a good place to bury your friend, here. Nobody’ll disturb her this way.”

    “Unless Limburger tries to tear it up again,” she pointed out.

    He scratched his head. “Funny thing about the stinkfish. When his plans get ruined once, he usually doesn’t go back an’ try again. Just moves on to the next scheme.”

    Alley considered. “Plutarkians aren’t a very _intelligent_ race, are they?”

    Throttle chuckled. “Well, there’s plenty of space. Anywhere particular you’d like to bury her?”

    She wandered toward the lake shore, stopping in front of a towering willow. After a moment’s thought, she ducked under its drooping boughs. The light was dimmer here, the air cooler and a bit damp. The earth around the trunk was loose. “This’ll be a good place. It’ll be easy to dig up,” she decided. “How about here, between the roots?”

    He dropped to his knees beside her, pulled a utility knife from his belt and dug it into the loose soil. Alley helped, using her hands to pull dirt from the growing hole.

    Throttle paused, reached in and pulled out a six-inch worm, dangling it in front of Alley’s face with a smirk. She just rolled her eyes and kept digging. “Not afraid of bugs?” he asked, surprised.

    “Why? They’re just bugs.” She glanced up, a smile curling her lips. “Although, that huge spider crawling over your shoulder is sorta—” She broke off with a snicker when he immediately started to beat at himself, trying to knock it away. Until he realized there was nothing there to begin with. He shot her a dirty look as she openly laughed. “I don’t like spiders,” he grumbled.

    “I’ll be _sure_ to keep that in mind,” she promised with a sly grin.

    When the hole was about a foot deep, Throttle stopped digging and picked up the box. “Wait.” Alley stopped him with her hand on his. “Let’s … leave the box,” she said. “This way, Mercy can feed the tree. Circle of life, you know?”

    Unquestioning, he slit the tape on the lid. When he would have picked up the rat, Alley stopped him again. “Let me.” Eyebrows raising, he offered the box. She took a deep breath, reached in to scoop up the body, unable to hide her shudder as she quickly deposited it into the hole and pushed the dirt back in. She paused to wipe straggling hair out of her face, leaving a muddy streak behind. Throttle patted the soil back down until it was firm. Then, to her surprise, he used the knife to carve Mercedes’s name into the base of the tree, followed with “beloved pet”. Finally, he held his hand over the grave, murmuring words in a strange language.

    She stared at him, eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

    He looked a little sheepish as he pulled off his specs and tucked them into his belt; the light had dimmed even further by then and he was finding it harder to see with them on. “It was a Martian blessing, to wish safe passage into the other world,” he explained. “A bit corny, I guess.”

    “No! That was incredibly thoughtful of you. _Thank_ you, Throttle.” She took his hand into both of hers, giving it a grateful squeeze. Then, on impulse, pulled him down a bit and reached to press a soft kiss to his fuzzy cheek. He blinked and reared back, caught by surprise.

    Alley ducked her head, face flaming as she immediately released his hand and stepped away with an embarrassed laugh. “Ah. S-sorry. I just … um…” She glanced at her muddy palms. “Oh. I should wash my hands.”

    Grateful for the distraction, she hurried from the cover of the tree, kneeling by the lake to swirl her hands through the water. What had possessed her to do that? Sure, she was grateful for everything he’d done, but to _kiss_ him? She could still feel the warm fur against her lips, and it didn’t disgust her nearly as much as she thought it ought to. After all, she reasoned, she’d kissed Mercedes on the head plenty of times, hadn’t she? Was it really so different?

    She glanced over her shoulder, finding that Throttle had made himself comfortable on the grass behind her, gazing at the sky, where the first stars were just making themselves known. His legs were crossed as he leaned on his hands. A gentle breeze ruffled the fur on his arms and chest, played through his golden mane. His expression was peaceful, eyes lidded sleepily. Her heart skipped strangely at the picture as she hastily turned away again. Yes, she decided. It was different. It was a _lot_ different.

    Her hands were more than clean by then. She rose from her place and shyly sat beside him, not quite able to meet his eyes when he glanced down at her. “Feel better?” he asked after a moment.

    “Yeah.” She managed a small smile. “Thanks.” They sat in silence for a moment, before she squirmed. “Soooo … shouldn’t we head back to the city now?” she hinted.

    “Nah. We came all the way out here. Might as well stay a bit. You said you wanted to stargaze awhile back, remember?” He glanced down at her with a small grin as she blinked, then flushed.

    “I’d rather _you_ didn’t remember,” she groaned, hiding her face in her arms. “That was _not_ my finest moment.” She heard him chuckle, jumped a bit when his hand came to rest on her head, ruffling her hair with a playful gesture. Apparently, he wasn’t gonna hold that kiss against her. She relaxed a bit, looking up at the sky where more stars had made their appearance. So had the moon, slowly coming into view over the line of trees. “Wow,” she sighed. “They really are clearer without all the lights in the way.”

    “You stargaze a lot at home?”

    “From the beach, mostly. But even then, there are always too many lights to really see them. The best stargazing I ever did was when me and Charley took our vacations on Pop-pop’s ranch. We’d take his big telescope and go into the middle of a field and watch meteor showers. We always made a zillion wishes on them. Most of which never did come true, come to think of it.” She huffed a laugh. “Did you stargaze a lot back home? I mean, before you joined the Freedom Fighters and all?”

    “Not really. Never really took the time to appreciate ‘em. Least not until I was up there traveling through ‘em,” he replied.

    “Have you been on a lot of deep space missions?” Alley turned to face him, face lighting up. “That must be _amazing_ , getting to visit other planets and other galaxies and stuff. I mean, that sort of thing is nothing but science fiction here. _We’ve_ never been past the moon.”

    “I have seen some pretty incredible places,” he admitted, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “Haven’t taken a lot of the deep space missions—Those’re usually reserved for Army, which we ain’t—but there were a few where they enlisted the Fighters’ help. Needed our … _special touch_ to get the job done right.” His smile was feral, making her shiver.

    “What was your favorite trip?” she asked.

    He thought for a moment. “They weren't exactly pleasure cruises, ya know. But there was one planet with a suspected Plutarkian outpost they needed us to infiltrate. It was an ice planet, completely frozen. Planet itself was boring as hell, and the outpost turned out to be a false lead so it was a wasted trip. But that sky…” He whistled softly. “The atmosphere was poisonous, but the entire sky was a display of crystallized gas and reflected light. It looked a lot like Earth’s Northern Lights. Only even _more_ incredible.” He shook his head, shrugging. “I can’t even put it into words what it was like. But that's one place I'll never forget visiting.”

    She sat back, gazing at the rising moon thoughtfully. After a moment, she suggested, “You could … just _show_ me, couldn’t you?”

    “Huh?” His head snapped around, eyes widening.

    She blushed. “Well, I mean, like you did when we met and you were explaining everything. All your memories in my head, like pictures.”

    He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Ah, that was—I mean, the situation was bit—”

    Her courage fled and she glanced away as she belatedly recalled what the guys had said about their ability’s _other_ use. “No, you’re right. Sorry. It’s not exactly need-to-know information. I’ll just take your word for it.” She huffed a bemused laugh, scratching her head. “Boy, I seem to be stepping all _over_ the boundaries today. Way to stick my foot in it.”

    There was a moment of silence. Then, “I guess … a look wouldn’t hurt.” He offered a lopsided grin when she blinked up at him. “Nothin’ wrong with a quick peek. It really was an amazing sight. I think you’d appreciate it more’n the guys did.”

    “You mean you’ll let me see?”

    He shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Just don’t tell the fellas, huh? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

    “My lips are sealed!” She shifted around to face him, sitting cross-legged in the grass as he mimicked the move. She closed her eyes as he leaned in, mentally bracing herself for the intrusion of a foreign mind into hers. His fingers touched her face, tracing softly down her cheek, making her twitch at the ticklish sensation. His thumb nudged her chin, tilting it up.

    A moment passed. And another. And just when she was starting to believe he’d changed his mind, she startled as an unexpected warmth ghosted across her lips.

    A breath of air. Velvety fur. A soft, warm pressure nuzzling carefully at her mouth; it took her a stunned moment to realize that he was _kissing_ her. His touch was light, questioning … just a bit uncertain. He withdrew, returned a heartbeat later to settle more firmly, and she couldn’t stop a different kind of shiver from trembling over her body.

    It was … _different_. The shape was all wrong, and the pronounced incisors pressing against her upper lip was a _bit_ distracting. But he kissed her as though she was something fragile, and precious, and she found herself kissing back, learning the shape of his mouth, of how it fit to hers. It felt _good_ , kissing Throttle, and when they parted, she forced her heavy lids open to gaze into his face with breathless wonder.

    His eyes were wide. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she felt herself blushing all over again. She licked her lips; his eyes immediately snapped to them, focused and intense. Her breath stuttered in her throat as she swallowed. “Th-that’s not quite how I remember it happening, last time around,” she joked weakly, trying to break the odd, building tension between them.

    Her voice seemed to snap him back to reality. He blinked; the hands gripping her shoulders almost painfully were suddenly gone as he snatched them away, holding them up. “S-sorry! I wasn’t—I shouldn’t ‘ve—”

    He made a move as if to rise, but her hand shot out to snag his vest, holding him there. He blinked down at it, looking as startled as she felt by her bold move. She ducked her head to hide her burning face. “D-do you hear me complaining?” she mumbled, releasing his clothes to pull her hand back … only to find it trapped under his, pressed to his chest. His skin through the fur was hot against her fingers; his heart thrummed hard and fast against her palm.

    She slowly raised her eyes again, her own heart kicking into a hard gallop when their gazes clashed. He was giving her that _look_ again. As if he was seeing her for the first time, and didn’t know quite what to make of her. His free hand slid into her tangled hair, cupping her head. He was so close that she could feel his breath stirring the wispy tendrils at her temple. And when he lowered his head, her breath hitched with anticipation as his mouth settled softly against hers.

    He was bolder this time, more confident. He tilted her chin, adjusted the angle _just so_ , traced the seam of her lips until they parted. His long tongue dipped in, tasted her deeply; she pulled back after a few moments, panting for air. Undeterred, he nuzzled under her chin, suckling at her throat as her fingers curled into the soft fur of his chest. He pushed forward, and she suddenly found herself on her back, head cradled in his hand. He settled between her legs, a delicious weight against her body; his fur was warm and silky against the bared skin of her stomach where her thin shirt had ridden up, sending an unexpected flush of arousal straight through her thighs. He kissed her again, and she slipped her arms around him, under his vest. Her fingers buried into his thick fur, nails dragging lightly along his hot skin as she stroked the long length of his back.

    His reaction was a massive shudder, bucking his hips against her, and a different sort of heat thrust between her thighs, an exciting hardness prodding insistently at her core. She gasped, instinctively pushing back. He finally broke the kiss to nip at her ear, murmuring, his voice husky and deep. Foreign words that she couldn’t understand, but were no less compelling for that.

    It was all happening so _fast_. She thought she ought to be protesting mightily by this point, but as he nuzzled down her throat and peppered soft kisses across her skin, she couldn’t seem to find her voice around the shaking breaths see-sawing between her lips. She trembled as his hand slipped gently up her stomach, under her shirt, over bare flesh. He’d _definitely_ noticed her missing bra, and made no secret that he appreciated the fact as he caressed gently, the worn leather of his glove causing delicious friction against her skin.

    Unfortunately, the ensuing pleasure was offset by the not-so-pleasant experience of something hard and sharp digging insistently into her lower back. She squirmed, trying to avoid the aggravating little rock poking holes into her spine. He took it the wrong way, mistaking her arching back as silent pleas for more. He moved down her chest, pressing soft kisses and playful lovebites along the way, slipping the strap of her shirt over her shoulder to expose her further to his seeking mouth, nuzzling at the swell of her breast. “W-wait a moment,” she panted, trying to push him back.

    He responded with a nip to her breast, through her shirt. She yipped in shock; he’d bitten just a little too hard, tearing cloth and sharply catching skin. The resulting pain was enough to snap her out of her lust-filled stupor. “ _Stop,_ ” she hissed, and he immediately froze. She softened at his expression, a mixture of worry and guilt. “I-I’ve got … something—There’s a rock or something,” she mumbled, trying to explain as she reached under herself and patted around. She yanked out the offending stone, and he leaned back as she sat up to hurl it away in a flash of irritation. A soft plop sounded from the lake.

    They sat in awkward silence for a moment, before he reached out to trace a gentle hand down her face, studying her carefully. She offered a hesitant smile. He started to lean in again, but her question stopped him. “Sh-should we be doing this?”

    His soft expression shuttered. “You don’t like it?”

    “It’s not that.” She flushed, glancing away. She’d been liking it quite a _lot,_ actually, and wanted nothing more than to let him continue, but…

    “It’s just—I thought you—Don’t you have—?” She broke off, flustered. “What about your Carbine?” she finally blurted, and was rewarded with a slow widening of his eyes, realization dawning in his expression.

    He hissed softly, turning away. She thought she caught a muttered “What am I _doing_?” before he presented his back to her, fisting his hands into his mane. She regretted even bringing it up. She shifted beside him, not knowing what to say. She felt unaccountably ashamed of herself, making out like that with a taken guy. A _very_ taken guy, if what his friends had told her was true. She wasn’t the type to go around stealing other girls’ boyfriends right out from under their noses. Especially when they weren’t even there to fight for him!

    Still, taken or not, she couldn’t deny the definite attraction she’d developed toward the golden mouse. How strange, for her feelings on the matter to have changed so quickly. Now she just felt embarrassed for criticizing Charley’s choice so harshly. She was _definitely_ starting to see the appeal of Martian mice. It no longer mattered that Throttle was of an alien race. It didn’t matter that he was covered in fur and looked like a rodent. Somewhere in the last few weeks, she’d come to think of all of the mice as being kind of beautiful. Tails, fuzzy ears, bionic parts and all.

    To her, though, Throttle was the most beautiful. She’d been taken completely by his personality. He was like a prince; charming, charismatic, protective. He had the most compassionate heart she’d ever seen. She’d never known a _human_ man who would go so far as to take her to a special place just to bury a dead rat. She thought she might love that about him.

    She glanced at his still profile, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to reconcile with her strange attraction and the fact that, like it or not, he was just not available to pursue it.

    _But maybe they broke up,_ she thought, a small, niggling hope growing. He’d gotten a letter the other week, and hadn’t said a word about it since. Maybe it had been a Dear John note. Or maybe he was having relationship issues and was considering breaking it off. Or maybe—

    _Or_ maybe _he’d gotten caught up in the moment, just like you, and had lost his head,_ she scolded herself, trying to squash down the hateful thoughts. The way she’d been _throwing_ herself at him, it was no wonder he’d made a move! He’d only been responding to her advances, unintentional or not. Looking at it _that_ way, the entire situation was her fault, and now she felt horrible about that, too. She’d never meant to take advantage of his kindness in such a way.

    He finally shifted, catching her attention as he glanced over his shoulder. “Gettin’ kinda late,” he said quietly. “Probably better get back to the garage, before they go out looking.”

    “Oh.” She dropped her gaze, disappointed. “Yeah. You’re right. We should get back.”

    He stood and strode to the bike, leaving her to blink for a moment before she scrambled up to follow him, tightening her sweater around her. She silently put on the helmet, noting that his tail did not hold her as tightly as before when it coiled around her waist. She leaned in to slip her arms around him, thought the better of it. He was so tense now. She leaned back again, settling for resting her hands on his shoulders.

    It was a long, silent ride back to the city. Night had fallen, and the temperature had dropped. Alley was shivering with cold by the time they pulled up to the garage. She got off the bike, handed him the helmet, but held on when he tried to take it. “Throttle?” Her voice was very small. “Thank you for what you did today. With Mercy and everything…” She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry about—I didn’t mean to let—”

    He looked startled. “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m the one who—” He shook his head. “I let it go too far. I should’ve kept my hands off. I just—You were sittin’ there, all soft and tempting. I couldn’t—” He chuffed a sharp breath, a husky laugh. “Really sad thing is, I wish we were still back there,” he muttered under his breath. Her eyes widened, and he pulled the helmet from her lifeless fingers. “Go on in. You’re shivering.”

    She was. But not just from the cold anymore. “You’re not coming?”

    “Nah. Gotta go clear my head. I’ve got some serious thinkin’ to do. Tell the guys I’ll see ‘em later, yeah?”

    “Okay. Sure. I’ll tell them.”

    He offered a small smile before handing her the empty shoebox. He revved the engine and shot off, tail lights leaving a bright streak behind him.

    She sighed heavily, clutching the box to her chest before turning to trudge into the garage.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cough* Well. That escalated quickly.
> 
> A moment of silence for poor, little Mercy. She was an innocent in all of this. *bows head*


	20. Twenty

    The garage doors were shut, which meant either the gang was still out investigating, or it was later than Alley had thought and the Last Chance was closed for the night. She hoped for the former as she typed the security code into the panel on the wall, allowing the door to raise halfway before slipping under it.

    No such luck. They were all back. She wasn’t particularly shocked to find people still inside the garage; she was surprised to find that Chris and Chex were among them. She hadn’t noticed either of their cars parked on the street.

    “So, you totally blew off lunch,” Chex scolded as she bounced forward. “I was mad until I got your text. Man, that _blows_. I can’t believe—Holy _hell_ what happened to _you_? You get into a fight or somethin’?” She stopped talking long enough to give the frazzled blonde a lengthy once-over.

    Embarrassed, Alley glanced down at herself, noting the state of her clothes, wrinkled and liberally stained with grass and dirt. She was sure her hair was a tangled mess, their braids long undone. She couldn't even guess where the elastic bands had gotten to; she strongly suspected they were still back at the lake. “Oh. Uh…” She felt herself blushing under the scrutiny. “M-My pet rat just died.” She held up the empty box. “Throttle took me out to bury her.”

    “What, did he try ‘n bury you along with her?” Chex jumped when Chris elbowed her sharply in the side.

    “Ignore the birth defect. She suffers from chronic Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome. I’m sorry about your pet, Alley.”

    “Uh, yeah. Me too. That bites.” Chex offered a sheepish grin. “Rats are cool.”

    “It’s okay. I feel a little better now. I was afraid I'd just have to dump her body, but Throttle helped me bury her under a tree. It was kind've therapeutic. He carved her name into the trunk. Even said a little blessing over her grave and everything. It was really sweet.”

    Charley and the mice exchanged glances, eyebrows raised all around. “Yeah,” Vinnie sniggered. “ _Real_ sweet of ‘im.”

    Now it was Charley’s turn to make use of her elbow. “You gonna be okay?” she asked her cousin, concerned. “That’s a lot of bad news for one—”

    “Holy _shit_ , girl, is that a _hickey_?” Ignoring her brother’s exasperated sigh, Chex grabbed Alley’s sweater and peeled it back. “It _is_! There’s like a whole _flock_ of ‘em!” She looked inexplicably delighted by the discovery, eyes sparkling with devilish humor. “Sooo … after burying your pet, I guess he decided to help _distract_ you from your _grief_ with a little _wrestling_ and—”

    She was once again cut off by a swat from her brother. “Don’t be disgusting, Chex,” he snapped. “She’s a human! He’s a giant rodent! There’s no way they could—”

    “Says _you_ ,” Vinnie cut in with a derisive snort, stepping forward to sling a possessive arm around Charley’s shoulders. “From where _I’m_ standin’, we _can_ just _fine_ , thanks.” Two jaws dropped, and Charley looked like she wanted to crawl into the floor.

    “You mean … the two of you are—” Chris choked out.

    “She’s my girl,” Vinnie confirmed proudly. “An’ _I’m_ her mouse!”

    Charley just sighed and shrugged in a what-can-ya-do gesture.

    Chex’s shock slowly faded as a delighted grin reappeared. “Gettin’ frisky with the furries!” She nodded approvingly. “Dude, that’s _hot_.”

    Charley and Chris both choked. Vinnie preened. Modo looked like he’d rather be _anywhere_ else. Alley kind've understood how he felt. She groaned and wiped a hand over her face. “Chex, _really?_ ”

    “What?” Her expression was all innocence.

    “I’m goin’ to bed.” Alley stalked to the garbage bin to dump the empty box into it.

    “Aw, come on, it was just gettin’ good!” Laughing, Chex moved to keep her from leaving. “What _happened_ between you two while you were out burying things? And how come he’s not here?”

    Alley was wondering that, herself. Damned mouse, throwing her to the wolves like this… “Nothing happened,” she growled.

    “Your appearance would suggest otherwise,” Chex teased. “Come on, tell!”

    Alley shot a pleading glance at her cousin, who merely raised an eyebrow in return as a small grin twitched around her mouth. Clearly, she would be getting no help from that quarter. Huffing, she turned to stomp up the stairs, only to run headlong into a furry body directly in her path. Startled, she looked up to find Stoker standing over her, shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck. His fur was damp, clearly just from a shower. “Yes,” he deadpanned, expression droll. “ _Do_ tell us what happened while you were out tonight.” He stepped back to look her over, face darkening as he took in the smattering of love bites visible under the open sweater. He reached out to yank its hood until it slipped down around her elbows, revealing the bruises peppering her throat and collarbone and even further, vanishing under her clothes. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he took in the suspicious hole in her shirt, dotted with traces of blood. She could feel the hot flush spreading over her skin, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a crack and hide.

    “Did he attack you?” Stoker finally asked, voice deceptively soft.

    She gaped at him. “Do you even _hear_ yourself?”

    “Yeah! She was _obviously_ a willing participant,” Chex put in with a snicker. Stoker shot her an annoyed glance; she held up her hands in surrender and backed off, still smirking.

    “ _Nothing happened,_ ” Alley growled, stamping her foot.

    “I can smell him all over you. Those bruises don’t look like ‘nothing’.”

    Blush darkening, she yanked her sweater closed and glared. “It’s none of your business, either way!”

    Chris shifted uncomfortably. “It’s getting late,” he muttered. “We gotta get back to the dorms or we’ll miss curfew.”

    “But we just got here! You were _soooo_ insistent on coming out and making sure Alley was okay. What happened to helping her in her time of need?” Chex asked, pouting.

    He sneered. “Looks like someone already beat me to it."

    Alley straightened, shooting him a wounded look. “That’s not fair!”

    “Oh, don’t mind _him_.” Chex smirked. “He’s just pissy ‘cause his crush _totally_ got laid.”

    Chris’s face slowly turned a deep shade of crimson. “Blow it out your _ass, Connie_ ,” he snarled over Alley’s denials. “I’m going back to the dorm. You comin’ or you gonna walk?” He turned to stomp off.

    “Wait! Chris…” Alley called after him. He ignored her.

    “Ooooo, _touchy_. No worries, I can catch a ride!” Chex shot Modo a hopeful glance, who in turn frowned at her, the very picture of fatherly disapproval. She heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes. “Okay, _fine_. Should’ve drove myself. Hold up, Spaz, I’m comin’!” Mouthing a quick “call me” to Alley, she turned to trot after her twin.

    Leaving Alley to face the wolves by herself. She gulped.

    There was a long, awkward silence, during which Alley fidgeted nervously and considered making a mad dash for her bedroom. Of course, Stoker effectively blocked her route up the stairs, but there _was_ always the fire escape...

    "So," Charley began, effectively breaking the silence. "Can I take this to mean that you've become more open to inter-species relationships?"

    Alley pursed her lips, nonchalantly picking caked dirt from under her fingernails. “I’m no longer … completely opposed to the idea,” she mumbled.

    "How _generous_ of Throttle, steppin’ up to help you overcome your aversion to our species," Stoker snorted, looking anything but happy. "Way to take one for the team."

    Jaws dropped all around. Modo and Vinnie exchanged alarmed glances as Charley sighed heavily and wiped a hand over her face, shaking her head.

    Alley calmly stepped up, hauled back, and delivered a clean uppercut directly to Stoker’s jaw.

    His head snapped back as a startled grunt escaped. The force of the hit caused him to stagger back a step or two, where he promptly tripped over the bottom step and stumbled backwards, landing right on his tail, sprawled over the stairs. He gaped up at the blonde, who stood over him with an evil glare, shaking the pain out of her hand. “You’re an _ass_ ,” she hissed, stepping over him and marching up the stairs. A few moments later a door slammed.

    He gingerly worked his jaw, rubbing the abused skin; he could feel the welt already swelling under his fur. Charley knelt beside him, her expression a mix of sympathy and amusement. “You okay?” she asked, shooting a scolding glance at Vinnie and Modo, who were trying (and failing miserably) to hide their snickers.

    He let his head rest against the step. "Been better," he sighed

    She grinned. “She clocked you a good one, huh? Need some ice?”

    He huffed, insulted. “What do you take me for?”

    She patted his shoulder. “I hate to say I told you so—"

    "No, you don't," he snorted. "An' I know. I had it comin'."

    She hummed in agreement. “I think you’ve probably got a bit groveling to do.”

    He chuckled. “Stuck my foot in it, huh?”

    “Sure,” she teased. “Your foot, your knee, your upper thigh…”

    “Okay, okay. Smartass.” A grin twitched his mouth and he tossed his damp towel over her head. "Think she'll forgive me if I buy her another rat?"

    "I dunno, Coach. Rate you're goin', you better make it a pony," Modo quipped, earning more snickers from Vinnie.

    "I think she'll forgive you _if_ you offer a heartfelt _apology_." Charley tugged on a lock of his hair.

    "I was afraid you'd say that."

    "You do know what one of those _is_ , right?"

    "Sure! It’s that thing where you tell your lady that you were wrong about everything in your entire life, an’ pray she won’t make you sleep on the couch for the rest of it.”

    “Oh, stop it.” Charley laughed and delivered a playful smack to his shoulder.

    He smirked and hauled himself to his feet, wincing when his back popped with the effort. He was gettin’ too damned old. His sleek black racer rolled over to him, and he hopped on with a grateful pat to the crankshaft.

    “Where ya goin’?” Vinnie asked. “Ya ain’t runnin’ away, are ya?”

    “Better let her calm down a bit. Word of advice, punk. It’s a lot easier to apologize when yer not too busy dodgin’ the blunt objects bein’ hurled at your head.” Stoker pulled on his wing-eared helmet. “‘Sides, I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

    “You realize there’s a perfectly good phone right over there,” Charley offered, bemused.

    “Ain’t the right kinda phone, honey.” He gave her a wink before revving his engine and shooting out of the garage, barely missing the half-open door on the way.

* * *

    After convincing the guys to go to the scoreboard for the night, Charley found herself standing outside of Alley’s bedroom. She took a fortifying breath, knocked lightly, opened the door a crack to peer into the room.

    Alley looked up from her spot on the floor, where she was busily cleaning out the empty cage. “I’m not gonna apologize for hitting him,” she warned.

    “I don’t expect you to.” Charley wandered into the room and made herself comfortable on the bed. “He deserved a punch.” She smiled at Alley's surprise; clearly, she’d been expecting a scolding. “Don’t hold it against him, though, huh?” she added. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on anybody.”

    The blonde snorted and turned back to the cage. “Where is everyone?” she asked after a moment.

    “Dunno where Stoker got off to, but I sent the other two home. I suspect they might’ve gone looking for Throttle.”

    “They’re not gonna yell at him, are they?”

    “Of course not.” Charley shrugged. “Not like he did anything wrong. Right?” She watched her cousin for a few moments, before nudging her leg with a booted foot. “So. You and Throttle, huh? How long has this been going on?”

    “It _hasn’t_ ,” Alley muttered, dumping a tray of used wood shavings into a garbage bag.

    “He’s been spending an awful lot of time with you, hasn’t he? Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m glad to see you’re both getting on so well, actually. But…”

    Alley sat back with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not like I went out there planning to seduce him or anything,” she mumbled. “We were just talking and then … and then he was _kissing_ me and…” She flushed, glancing away. “I didn’t … _hate_ it.”

    “So, he’s a good kisser, huh?” Charley’s eyes sparkled.

    The blonde shifted, blushing. “Well, honestly, it was kind’ve awkward,” she confessed. “I mean, he doesn’t even have lips! We didn’t quite … _mesh_.”

    “Soooo … he’s a _bad_ kisser?” The mechanic’s lips twitched.

    “I didn’t say _that_.” Alley rolled her eyes, smirking. “Once we figured out what went where, it was actually quite—” She stopped, clearing her throat as her cousin laughed. “But then I had to go and bring up Carbine.” She sighed heavily, dropping the litter scoop and sitting back against the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “After that he got real quiet. Then we came back here. He dropped me off, and took off on his own. Said he had to clear his head.”

    “Hmmm. Probably feels guilty. At least you stopped when you did. It’d be worse if you’d kept going.”

    “I know.” She leaned against Charley’s leg. “But part of me wishes I’d never mentioned her name. Now things are gonna be all awkward between us and I don’t want that. I really like him, you know? I want to get to know him better.”

    “Well, the fact that he made a move suggests definite interest. What kind and how much is another issue.” Charley sighed. “Carbine is the problem. Those two have been together for a long time, but I know their relationship has been pretty rocky at times. They hardly see each other as it is, and now that she's been made general, I don't imagine it will get any easier. What with her being on an entirely different planet and all…” She shifted. “Fact is, he might just be lonely, you know? And if you've developed any feelings for him, he might be picking up on that.”

    “Oh, _that_ makes me feel _much_ better,” Alley grumbled.

    Charley grimaced. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I'm just trying—” She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. “I'm not very good at this love advice thing, am I?”

    Her cousin offered a faint smile. “No, I understand. What you said makes sense, I guess. But what am I supposed to do now? Pretend like it never happened? I don't want to be just a convenient placeholder until he can go back to his real girlfriend."

    Charley tipped her head back. "Well, I imagine you and Throttle will have to figure that out for yourselves,” she replied. “Either way, I suggest having a conversation. Soon."

    “Yeah.”

    The two women sat for a few moments, lost in their own musings. Alley finally shifted, breaking the silence. “So, Throttle said you’d gone to the college to try and break into the computers.” She raised an eyebrow. “How’d that work for ya? Did you have to flee a zillion security guards?”

    Charley wrinkled her nose. “Please. Do I _look_ like an idiot? I sent in backup.” She reached into her shirt pocket, withdrew an object and held it out.

    “What _is_ that?”

    On closer inspection, “that” turned out to be a small mess of metal components, smashed microchips and hair-thin copper wires.

    "It used to be an electronic beetle," Charley explained. "But it sort've met with a little ... accident." She sounded perturbed.

    “You mean it’s like a robot or something?”

    “Mmmm. Something like that. It’s essentially a spy cam. It’s purpose is to plug into a computer and wirelessly download information to another hard drive. In this case, my laptop. That’s what I was trying to do last night. As you can see, it didn’t work out so well.”

    “What happened?”

    “The secretary spotted it. Thought it was an actual insect. She brought a book right down on it. Feedback damn near blew out my eardrum, lemme tell you.” Charley huffed a laugh. “And that was the end of that. It was a good test run, at any rate.”

    “Where did you even pick up something like this? Spies R Us?”

    “Oh, it’s just something I cobbled together in my spare time.” She gave a casual shrug as her cousin gaped at her.

“Cobbled toge—Charley.” Alley pinched the bridge of her nose. “You _cobble together_ a backyard _tree fort_ , or a quick fix for a broken _table_ leg. You do _not_ ‘cobble’ a technologically advanced … robotic … spy beetle!”

    “Sure I do!” The redhead grinned. “It’s just a prototype, like I said. I built it using spare parts. I needed to test it, and this was a good chance. Now I know its limitations. I’ll take them into account when I build an upgraded version.”

    “What sort of limitations?” Alley asked, curious.

    “For one thing, its signal range is too small. It only extends about twenty meters or so. I had to sit in a tree last night to get close enough to the third floor to maneuver the bug through my laptop. The commands weren’t getting through very well, though. It couldn’t read the order to disappear when the secretary showed up, which is how it got smashed. Good thing she didn’t look too closely and realize she’d just killed a robot. Adding working wings next time might be useful. It does climb walls pretty well, though.”

    Alley shook her head, impressed. “I dunno, Cuz. I think you totally missed your calling. Why are you fixing cars for a living, barely scraping by? You’re like a real-life James Bomb with all this spy crap! You should be making billions selling it to the government!”

    Charley hummed. “You know, I used to design bikes and stuff for small companies and private investors. Even had Washington sniffing around, expressing interest in my engines and a few of my weaponry designs.”

    Alley stared. “ _And?_ ”

    “Martians crash-landed my hometown.” Charley grinned wryly at the blonde's expression. “I tried for a few months to keep working on my prototypes, but…” She sighed and shrugged. “The problem with private investors and the government is they’re all incredibly _nosy_. And they tend to be super paranoid about their investments. They wanna know _exactly_ what they’re getting, how it’s all put together, what sort of equipment I use, where I get my parts… I couldn’t have the CIA poking around the garage with the guys constantly in and out. Three giant, talking alien mice would be just a _little_ hard to explain. Not to mention where I acquired some of the more _advanced_ components in my gadgets.”

    “Yikes. I see your point.”

    “Yeah. So, I just content myself with using my creativity to help out my best friends against the Plutarkian invasion. Little things like my spy bug will be a great help in the future. Once I perfect it, if we need info on Limburger's schemes, rather than putting ourselves in the direct line of fire, I can just send in a few of these little beauties to gather all the intel we need, safe and sound.”

    Alley scoffed. “I dunno, Charley. That's all well and good, but isn’t putting themselves in direct line of fire sort of what they _do_? Being the psycho adrenaline junkies that they _are_ and all…”

    Charley snorted. “ _They_ might be. As for me, I have _no_ such issues about giving my heart a few less attacks per month, thanks very much. Constant kidnapping never did sit well with me.”

 


	21. Twenty-One

    Alley could hardly sleep that night, tossing and turning in her bed, trying to get comfortable. Her dreams were disjointed and strange. Not outright nightmares, but disturbing nonetheless. It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, she found herself back at the lake, wrapped in Throttle’s arms.

    When the clock read four-thirty, she finally gave up and struggled out of bed, yawning widely and raking her fingers through the tangles in her hair. By habit, she reached for the bag of pellets to feed Mercedes, only to remember that she was no longer there. Grumbling, she gathered the supplies, tossed them into the cage, and carried the entire contraption to her closet and shoved it inside. _There,_ she decided. _Out of sight, out of mind._

    Still half-asleep, she threw on her robe and stumbled out to the kitchen to fix herself some coffee. She considered making eggs, decided she wasn’t awake enough to risk fiddling with Charley’s ancient, temperamental stove, and settled for cold cereal instead. That early in the morning, there wasn’t much of anything on. She stared listlessly at reruns of the Twilight Zone, ate her Cheerios, and tried to decide what to do next about her college situation.

    Next thing she knew, she found herself jerking awake as the floor shook and rumbled; someone was opening the garage door. Realizing she’d dozed off, she glanced at the wall clock to see that it read quarter to seven. “Morning, sunshine,” Charley called from the kitchen as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

    “And a good morning to you, too, Beautiful,” Vinnie announced cheerfully as he wrapped his tail around Charley's waist to pull her in for a hug.

    She rolled her eyes and gave his chest a light swat. “I wasn’t talking to _you_ ,” she teased, untangling herself and striding toward Alley, offering the sleepy blonde a fresh cup of coffee.

    Vinnie crossed his arms with a petulant pout, ears drooping. “I tell ya, I get no love,” he complained to his snickering bros.

    Charley paused on her way back to the kitchen just long enough to reach up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Morning, handsome,” she murmured into his ear, causing his entire face to flush pink as the snickers turned into outright laughter.

    Alley ignored their antics and sipped her coffee, wondering if she should go back to bed. She didn’t think she could deal with the obnoxious flirting today. She risked a quick peek over the back of the couch. Throttle leaned against the wall, arms crossed and one leg propped, the very picture of casual aloofness. He was very carefully _not_ looking at her. She sighed and turned around again.

    “Oh, yeah. I found this in the mail slot this morning.” Charley waved a white cardboard envelope with the Fed Ex logo stamped on it, tossing it onto the coffee table in front of her cousin.

    “Mom overnighted them? That had to be expensive.” Frowning, Alley slit open the envelope and pulled out a thin stack of papers, looking them over. “I dunno, Charley. You think old report cards and homework papers will really be enough to convince them I was set up?” she asked doubtfully.

    “All you can do is try,” her cousin replied. “Ask your friends to get you in to see the dean. He’s their father, right? If you explain to him, I’m sure he’ll be willing to help.”

    “Yeah, okay. I’ll stop by the college today and see if Chex can help me out. Or maybe Chris. He seems to have more influence with his parents.” Alley could only hope he’d be willing to help her. Given his reaction last night, she wasn’t too sure he’d be willing to even talk to her. The thought left a sour feeling in her stomach. “I’m gonna go change,” she mumbled, standing. As she passed Throttle, she gave him a hopeful glance and a small smile. His gaze slid her way, and she saw his eyes widen behind his field specs as he gave her a long once-over.

    "What?" She glanced down at herself, wondering what was wrong. Did she spill coffee on her pajamas or something?

    “Nothin’,” he muttered, pushing off the wall and wandering into the kitchen. Stung, she looked at Modo and Vinnie, who merely shrugged, looking as confused as she felt. She shook her head, turned and stomped to her room. Whatever. Her situation with Throttle would have to wait for a bit. She had more important things to deal with at the moment.

* * *

    Three hours later, Alley plopped down on a bench under an oak tree on the East Campus and tried not to give in to frustrated tears. She had taken a cab to the campus hoping to see Mr. Archer, but had been firmly rebuffed by the ever-vigilant Mary. Meetings all day, she’d said. Not to be disturbed.

    Alley had next tried texting Chex, only to discover that her class schedule was booked full until well into the afternoon. Finally, she’d tried texting Chris. As she’d feared, he refused to respond. Nor did he answer when she tried to call. She told herself it was probably because he was in class and had the phone turned off, but part of her knew it was more than that.

    “Wow. You look like the whole world just imploded.”

    Startled, Alley glanced up to find Chex bouncing toward her, dressed in skin-hugging black jeans and an electric blue, medieval-looking corset blouse with long bell sleeves. The outfit was finished off with a pair of studded biker boots and a lace choker studded with blue metallic roses.

    “You goin’ on a date?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

    The redhead plopped down beside her. “The step-monster insisted I dress ‘classy’ for school.” She grinned, holding out her arms. “This is me bein’ classy.” She riffled around her leather bag and pulled out a canned coffee. “Want one? I’ve got like six of ‘em in here.”

    “Isn’t that heavy?”

    “Sure. But it works great as a weapon to beat off my countless admirers.” She grinned and popped the tab, taking a long swig. “Ahhh, caffeine. The ambrosia of life for college students everywhere,” she sighed.

    Alley laughed, accepting a can of mocha espresso and taking a sip.

    “So, you get anywhere with Pops?”

    She sighed. “No. Mary refused to let me in. I tried calling Chris but … he won’t answer. I think he’s kinda disgusted with me.”

    “Oh, don’t worry about _him_. He’s a spaz but he’s cool. He’ll come around. Eventually.” Chex took another swig out of her can. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll just beat some sense into him, is all.” She finished off the coffee and tossed the can into a nearby garbage bin. “This whole thing is just _weird_. I mean, I don’t ever remember a student getting kicked out and being accused of cheating after the term already started. They usually catch it way ahead of time. Someone really dropped the ball on that one. Their ass better get fired.”

    “Except I didn’t cheat,” Alley grumbled. “I was totally set up. Charley thinks my files were hacked through the school system. And the guys think Limburger has something to do with it. I think I was just the victim of a prank or something.”

    “Hmmm…” Chex tipped her head back. “Speaking of the Purple People Eater, I haven’t seen him around campus lately. Not for a week or two, at least. Even his smelly goons stopped showing up. Little weird under the circumstances, dontcha think?”

    “That could just be coincidence.”

    “Or maybe the guys are on to something. Like, what if it was a setup? An inside job! What if Limburger promised to leave the school alone if someone, like, changed all your records or something?”

    “But _why_?” Alley huffed a frustrated sigh. “What purpose would doing that serve? The school sits on valuable property, and Limburger’s entire purpose for _being_ here is to strip-mine choice property for his own planet’s needs. He’d stand to lose a lot more than he’d gain by promising to leave it alone, just to ruin the reputation of one student.”

    “It _is_ a conundrum. Lucky for you, I _love_ a good mystery. So I’ll help you solve this one! I can go undercover, snoop around in the office files and stuff for clues. There’re advantages to being the dean’s kid, you know.” Chex slung a conspiratorial arm around Alley’s shoulders. “And in exchange,” she added with a smirk, “ _you_ can tell me _all_ about your hot date with Throttle.” She batted her heavily-lined eyes and affected a Valley Girl accent. “So, like, are you two, like, going _steady_?"

    “Not hardly. He has a girlfriend.”

    She winced, removing her arm. “Ooh. Ouch.”

    Alley snorted. “You can say that again.” She fiddled with the can in her hands. “It’s all awkward between us now. I don’t think he knows what to say to me.”

    “Well, no wonder. I mean, he cheated on his girl.”

    “He didn’t cheat!” Alley blushed when Chex raised an eyebrow at her outburst. “I mean … not really. I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I guess what we did do was bad enough.”

    “Too bad.” Chex smirked. “Goin’ by what I saw last night, I bet it would’ve been hot.” She tugged at the collar of the dark purple lace blouse Alley had thrown on over a black camisole, to hide the majority of the bruises.

    Alley stared at her. “You don’t think it’s … _weird_? Me making out with a giant mouse?”

    “Please.” Chex laughed. “You’ve never met my friends. You ain’t seen weird until you meet a guy with metal spikes drilled into his skull. He can switch 'em out and everything! Last I saw him, he had a rainbow on his head. It was awesome.”

    Alley giggled, finishing off her coffee and tossing the can. “That definitely sounds … colorful. By the way, aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

    “Yeah, I’ve got one starting any second now. I was on my way when I saw you sitting here being all mopey.”

    “Won’t you get in trouble for being late?”

    “Pfft. What’re they gonna do, kick the dean’s kid outta the classroom?”

    Alley’s lips twitched. “Noooo … but the professor might complain to your dad about it. Or worse. Your _step-mom_.”

    “Oh. That’s a good point.” Chex picked up her bag and hopped to her feet. “Sorry, girl. Love to stay and keep prying info outta you, but I’ve got creative writing to attend."

    “Have fun! Guess I’ll call a cab back to the garage in the meantime. Nothing else I can do here, for now.”

    “You’re not getting a pickup?”

    “Charley needs her truck, and frankly, the thought of getting on the back of one of those motorcycles again freaks me the hell out. Those guys are _scary_ when they ride!”

    “Damn. I’m jealous.” Chex sniggered at Alley's expression. “Look, there’s a shuttle that transports students between the campuses. It shows up in front of the Atrium like every two hours. Just ride that to the city campus and catch a bus line from there to the garage. Way cheaper than a cab.”

    “Isn’t that for the students, though?”

    “Uh, hello. You _are_ a student. At least you will be when this crap gets sorted out. You still have your ID, right? Just flash it at the driver and hop on. Not like he’d know the difference.”

    “Sure. I’ll do that. Thanks.”

    “Right. Well, gotta book. Later!” Chex turned and made a mad dash for the nearest building, leaving Alley alone on the bench.

    She sighed and got up, trudging toward the Atrium and trying her best to look like an aloof, bored student just waiting for a ride as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. She jumped a bit when her phone suddenly buzzed, pulled it from her pocket to find a message from Chex.

_Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. I told the step-monster about your jewel stuff. Here’s her business email address. Mail her a pic of the_   
_necklace and any other pieces you have  and tell her you’re looking for appraisal with interest in selling._   
_Trust me, she’ll be ALL over it. Later!_

    Alley smiled and put the phone away. Well, one thing seemed to be going right, at least. Charley would be glad to hear the news.

* * *

    Chex was right about the shuttle. When the short white bus finally pulled up, Alley took a fortifying breath, flashed her most innocent smile and her student ID, and made beeline to the very back of the vehicle when the driver hardly gave her a glance. Three other students boarded with her; none of them paid her any attention, and she relaxed.

    She found herself dozing on the ride back into the city, jerked awake when the bus pulled to a stop and the other passengers noisily got up and filed off. She grabbed her bag and hastily followed, finding herself in front of a tall, gleaming skyscraper of a school. She released a breath and pulled her phone, using its GPS to locate the nearest bus route. There was one only two blocks over. Hiking her bag over her shoulder, she started to walk. She’d barely taken ten steps, however, before a horribly familiar voice brought her up short.

    “Well, well, young lady. We meet yet again.”

    Alley froze, a shiver trembling up her spine as a gaudy Rolls Royce pulled up to the curb beside her. The faint whiff of rotten fish drifted through the open window, making her nose itch and a hard sneeze threaten to erupt; she forced it back by sheer willpower, stepping further away from the curb as the limo’s suicide door swung open and Limburger’s gleaming eyes peered out at her from the shadowed exterior of the car. Those eyes reminded her of a shark, cold and lifeless. So did his wide smile, all teeth and false charm.

    “Lawrence Limburger. What an … unexpected surprise,” she said, relieved when her voice sounded steady and calm.

    “Yes. Quite,” he responded. “If you would be so kind, I do wonder if you might spare a few moments of your time?”

    The chills grew stronger and Alley swallowed, hard. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid. Got a bus to catch—”

    “Oh, this won’t take long. I merely wish to discuss some business with you. A few minutes, that is all I require. If you would kindly take a seat?” He gestured to the cushy bench seat across from him.

    “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that getting into cars with complete strangers is a terribly bad idea? I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. Send me a letter. I’m sure you know where to address it.” She started to back away, only to be brought up short as something hard poked firmly into her back. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder … and nearly had a heart attack as a huge, smelly goon dripping grease and dressed in filthy overalls leered down at her.

    “Da boss asked yas nicely ta gets in da car, girly,” he growled, prodding harder with the gun. “So gets in.”

    “My associate, Greasepit.” Limburger gave a dismissive wave. “Best do as he says. He’s not a particularly good shot, but at this range I doubt even he can miss.”

    Heart sinking, Alley reluctantly climbed into the limo and curled up on the seat across from the Plutarkian, calling herself all sorts of stupid. She should’ve bolted the moment she’d heard his voice, but how was she supposed to know he’d be ballsy enough to grab her in broad daylight, in the middle of downtown Chicago?

    The door slammed shut, and the car pulled from the curb, merging into traffic as horns blared and tires screeched to avoid collision. The interior of the limo was _frigid_ , the air conditioning turned up full-blast. And even that couldn’t quash the thick, maelstrom stench of too many air fresheners, old cigars, and the rancid, toe-curling odor of rotting seafood. Alley breathed shallowly and tried her best not to be sick all over Limburger’s nice, purple-upholstered seat. “So, you wanted to talk. So talk,” she snapped, affecting a bravado she was far from feeling at the moment.

    "Oh, don’t be tiresome,” Limburger sniffed. “No need to look at me like that. After all, we’re not, in fact, complete strangers. You know me, I’m sure. And I do know all about _you,_ Miss Allyson Kelly Davidson.” His smile reappeared. “Or, should I say … Parker?”

    Alley blinked in surprise.

    “I hear you’ve been having some … difficulty in regards to your educational endeavors these days,” he continued, his voice practically dripping well-feigned sympathy.

    Her eyes narrowed. “You heard that, huh? Boy, bad news sure travels fast.”

    “Indeed. And I believe I may be of some assistance in regards to this particular issue. I am, after all, quite influential in this city. A well-respected citizen. An entrepreneur. An—"

     “—illegal alien?” Alley cut in sweetly. At his raised eyebrow, she pasted on her most innocent expression. “I’ve heard rumors.”

    His thick lips curled. “In point of fact, a few phone calls and some words from me will go quite a long way to restoring your academic reputation to its former glory. I daresay your scholarship funding will be reinstated, your classes rescheduled, and it will be as if this little … mishap never occurred in the first place.”

    Alley pursed her lips. “Uh-huh. And you’re going to do this for me from the _overwhelming_ generosity of your heart, I suppose?”

    He snorted. “Don’t be absurd, Miss Parker—”

    “It’s Miss _Davidson_ to _you_.”

    “Now, now. Let us keep our tempers, shall we?” His smile was cold. “As I was saying, I am a businessman, and this is a business proposition. I can give you what you want. And if my many sources are to be believed, you can give me something I want, in exchange.”

    “And that would be…?”

    “Information.”

    She waited for the addendum. When none was forthcoming, she frowned. “Information,” she repeated. “That’s it?”

    “Quite.” Limburger removed a small tin from his pocket, selected a sample of its contents, and slurped down what looked like a limp noodle. Then, noting his guest’s stare, he offered the tin to her. “Would you care for a taste? They are the very finest quality.”

    Alley leaned in for a closer look, curious despite herself … and instantly recoiled when the contents _squirmed._

    Limburger chuckled, clearly pleased by her reaction. “They are called Plutarkian Slug Worms,” he explained. “Although the name is a bit misleading as they're completely earthen in origin. My own creation, actually. Genetically spliced from your common earthworms and garden-variety slugs, with just a pinch of snail thrown in. The taste is _exquisite_.” He sighed blissfully, and Alley shuddered. “They are considered quite the rare delicacy on Plutark, which means, of course, that I can charge a large fortune for a small sample, and Plutarkians will pay through the gills to obtain it.” He slurped down another worm with relish. “Are you certain you would not care for a taste?”

    “No thanks. I just ate,” Alley muttered, shrinking back into her seat, not even trying to hide her disgust.

    “Your loss.” He snapped the tin closed. "As I was saying," he continued, "my sources have informed me that you and I share a common acquaintance with a certain trio of, shall we say ... _individuals_."

    Alley decided there was no point in pretending; he’d obviously done his homework and knew exactly who she was. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the Biker Mice,” she replied, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands primly atop her knee.

    “Indeed. Those destructive, flea-ridden miscreants and their overbearing machismo! Pestilent parasites, the lot of them!” he snarled, slamming his fist against the seat, before remembering himself and clearing his throat. “But, ironically enough, it is not _them_ I have vested interest in.” He straightened his tie. “There has been a fourth mouse seen coming and going these past few weeks. A rather infamous leader of their little rebel band. He’s been on earth before, but never for such prolonged periods. So, I must say I am quite curious to know what he’s been about these days. Perhaps _you_ can satisfy my curiosity?”

    Alley pursed her lips, considered … then shrugged. “If you’re talking about Stoker, he isn’t their general anymore. He retired. His niece has taken over. Or so I’ve been told.”

    “Yes, yes, I know all that already,” he snapped, waving her off irritably. “What I want to know is _why_ he came to earth and what he’s been up to down here!”

    She shrugged again. “I can’t tell you that. I have no idea what he gets up to. Nobody does. He’s very hush hush about the whole thing.”

    “Ah, but he _is_ up to something, isn’t he?” Limburger smiled evilly. “Slippery as an eel, that one. Coming and going at all hours. Oh, I’ve had him followed but he’s too wily and too cautious for that. Gives me the slip every time. Infuriating, really. But! I know he is working on something _big_ , which might possibly tip the balance of power out of Plutark’s favor and turn the war around, and that simply will not do.”

    Alley shifted uncomfortably. “Well, like I said, I don’t know anything, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. Can I get out now?”

    “But we are not finished conversing yet,” Limburger purred. “You may not know anything now, but my sources inform me that Stoker seems to have taken quite a … fancy to you.” His lips pulled into a sneer. “Use your feminine wiles! Charm the information out of him. If he’s anything like those other rodents, he’ll be putty in your pretty little hands.”

    “You want me to _seduce_ him?” Alley felt her face slowly turning red.

    “Oh, nothing so tawdry as _that_ ,” he sniffed. “Simply cozy up to him, simper and flatter and pull the information from his besotted brain before he even realizes he’s let it slip. Then, pass it on to me.” He reached into his jacket, withdrew a foil-embossed business card and offered it to her. “When you find the answers I seek, come see me here. You give me whatever information you’ve obtained, I make those phone calls, and voila, your credibility and your scholarship is fully restored.”

    Alley accepted the card, frowning. “And what do you plan to do with the information?” she asked.

    “ _That_ , my dear girl, is hardly your concern. Your job shall be quite finished by then.”

    She pursed her lips. “I still don’t see why I should help you. You’ve made my cousin’s life a living hell, trying to take her garage. Helping _you_ would be the same as betraying _her_.”

    “And why should that matter?” he sniffed. “After all, it isn’t as though you’re _really_ cousins, now is it, Miss Parker?”

    Alley flushed, opening her mouth to retort, but a command from Limburger had the car lurching toward the curb, throwing her off-balance as the brakes slammed on and brought it to a screeching halt. The driver door banged, and a few moments later, the passenger door swung open. She cringed away at the sight of the three-eyed … _thing_ in a driver’s cap grinning up at her. It held the door open with one arm and gestured at her to exit with the tentacle that made up its other. “Watch your step,” the creature intoned cheerfully as she hastily scrambled from the limo.

    “Do consider my proposition carefully,” Limburger called after her. “You have much to gain by your cooperation, you know. The restoration of your scholarly endeavors could be only the beginning! Why, a man of my wealth and influence could—”

    “ _Okay_ , I get the point!” she snapped, stuffing the card into her pocket. “Just … gimme a bit. I’ve gotta think it over. Stoker’s not an idiot, you know.”

    “Of course,” he purred, lips curling into a triumphant smirk. “And I need not tell you to keep our little rendezvous between just the two of us. After all, as they say, discretion _is_ the better part of valor.”

    “Great. An alien fish who quotes Shakespeare,” she muttered as the car moved on with a screech of rubber. She glanced around, realizing with uneasy shock that she'd been dropped off in a rather unsavory section of town. The buildings were far more rundown, the roads pitted and cracked, and the population seemed to be nonexistent. Cursing under her breath, she pulled up her GPS again to locate Charley’s garage, finding with surprise that she stood only six blocks away from it.

    Unfortunately, those six blocks happened to be in the wrong direction from the nearest bus station; she’d have to walk past her destination in order to catch a bus. Looked like she was gonna have to hoof it. At least, she thought dryly, the hike would give her time to air out the stench she was sure had seeped into her clothes and hair by then. As it was, she probably wouldn't be smelling anything but dead fish for the next few days. Ugh. Talk about an appetite killer.

    Sighing heavily, she began trudging toward the Last Chance Garage, wondering just how much _weirder_ her life could possibly get.

 


	22. Twenty-Two

   Stoker was seriously contemplating building himself a new hideout. While the laboratory he kept well-hidden in the wilderness was large and well-stocked with equipment and supplies, it was becoming more and more difficult to come and go as he pleased without detection. He'd done his best to keep his whereabouts a secret, but Limburger was definitely onto him, if the amount of hired thugs constantly sent out to tail him was any indication. The goons might not have been particularly intelligent, but they _were_ annoyingly persistent; Stoker knew that one of these days he was gonna slip up and lead someone right to his lab, and then everything he'd spent the last ten earth years trying to achieve would be sent straight down the proverbial crapper.

   Even the _thought_ of all the work it would require to set up a new workshop was exhausting, but he couldn't risk his project by staying where he was, and he didn't want to move house to one of his other, smaller hideaways scattered across the country. Moving farther from Chicago—and therefore from his comrades—just didn't sit well with him.

   Which was why he found himself cruising down the ruined streets of the large warehouse district not far from Charley's garage. What had once been thriving industrial businesses were now nothing but empty husks of their former glory, ranging from mildly dilapidated to completely demolished. Not even the street gangs and city lowlifes bothered much with the abandoned neighborhood anymore; there wasn't any point as there was no longer anyone left to terrorize. Now they tended to hang out in other areas, living it up in the massive chasms edging the outskirts of Chicago.

   The result of Limburger's past handiwork, the Pits had become home to every sort of human criminal in Illinois over the past few years. Everyone knew it, _including_ the police. Yet, for some reason, they never seemed to have enough of a reason to go in and raid the place. Stoker was certain _that_ was the result of Limburger's handiwork, as well. He'd bribed the law enforcement and government officials to leave the Pits alone; in exchange, the Pit Boss left Limburger's extensive enterprise alone, and provided all the hired muscle needed to do his dirty work. It was a very beneficial business arrangement all around.

   While that knowledge really ground Stoker's gears, right now it worked well to his benefit. Nobody bothered with this district—including Limburger—which meant he had free access to the empty warehouses. And on the off-chance that anyone should get a little too nosy, they could easily be taken care of; after facing down squadrons of Plutarkian soldiers, a few stray punks were hardly any threat. He'd become an expert at setting alarms and traps. If Limburger sent more goons to trail him, they'd be in for some nasty shocks. He couldn't do much in the way of self-defense in the middle of the wilderness, but abandoned factories full of potentially hazardous junk was a different matter altogether.

   With a little planning and a lot of fortification, Stoker was sure he could rig up a decent laboratory to continue his work while he was on earth. A little careful rerouting would give him ample power needed to run his diagnostics, and he'd be right on the home turf, ready to lend a hand should the rookies need it. As much as it aggravated him to admit it, those hours-long rides between the city and his lab were really starting to wear on his body. It would be a nice change to not have his muscles and bones constantly aching from the strain.

   A sharp beep snapped him out of his inner musings, and he nearly lost control of his bike when it made a sudden veer to the left, narrowly missing the lone figure trudging down the middle of the street, who yelped with fright and scrambled out of the way. "Watch where you're going!" she screeched, and Stoker's eyes widened when he immediately recognized Alley's voice. He slammed on the brakes and made a sharp turn, coasting back her way. What was she doing, wandering these streets all by herself? True, he hadn't seen so much as a stray cat in the general vicinity, but _still_. She had to know that walking alone wasn't safe! Had something happened to her? _Again?_ He chuckled and shook his head. That woman was a walking trouble magnet, and if he had any sense, he'd keep his distance.

   Too bad his sense always seemed to shrivel up and die whenever those gorgeous blue eyes turned his way.

   He pulled to a stop beside her, opening his visor to turn on the charm … and it was then that the distinct odor of Plutarkian hit him full in the face.

   He reared back with surprise and mild alarm; a soft _whufff_ escaped before he could catch himself, and Alley scowled at him, not missing the flash of disgust that wrinkled his sensitive nose. She started to walk on, but he didn't give her a chance. He was off his bike in a second and blocking her path, frowning down at her. "What happened?" he asked, concern sharpening his tone.

   "Nothing," she snapped, her scowl deepening. He felt her defenses go up, preparing for a fight, and bit back a sigh. As much as their bantering amused him, she could be downright _exasperating_ when she set her mind to it. And while he knew she had every right to be a little peeved at him for his behavior the night before, right now it was time to let bygones be bygones. He wasn't about to let her clam up on this subject. Not when her safety was at risk.

   "Nothing?" he repeated, one eyebrow raising. "I can smell Plutarkian all over you."

   "Then feel free to take yourself upwind." She attempted to step around him. Again, he blocked her path, and she glowered. "I'm _fine_ ," she insisted. "Get out of the way!"

   Stoker exhaled a deep sigh and tried for patience, resting his hands on her slim shoulders. "Alley," he began gently, and a startled expression crossed her face at the rare use of her name. "If Limburger did anything to you, hurt you in any way, you need to tell me. _Please_."

   Her brow furrowed and she glanced around nervously; it occurred to him that she never seemed to know how to respond when he was being serious with her, filing that information away for later consideration. "Did Limburger lay hands on you?" he pressed, and she winced when his fingers inadvertently tightened at the thought. He immediately gentled his grip, rubbing her shoulders briefly in apology.

   "He didn't touch me," she finally mumbled. "He just … caught me by surprise, and one of his guys came up behind me and forced me into his car."

   "Why didn't you fight back?" he asked, offering a wry grin. "You've got a hell of a right hook."

   "Yeah, well, wouldn't do much good against the gun in my back."

   A low growl erupted deep in his throat, making her eyes widen. He forced himself to calm down. "What happened next?"

   "That's nobody's business but mine." She tried to ease away, but he maintained a steady grip on her shoulders and gazed patiently down at her. When she stubbornly refused to talk, he sighed deeply and nodded toward his bike. "Hop on. I'll give you a lift back."

   "There's nothing wrong with my legs."

   "Just do an old soldier a favor and get on. Your cousin would skin me alive and use my pelt as a coat if she found out I'd let you walk through this neighborhood by yourself."

   " _Fine._ " She huffed a sigh and stomped to the bike, started to swing a leg over the seat, only to stumble when the machine rolled smoothly forward. She eyeballed it cautiously and tried again … with the exact same result. She nearly fell that time, Stoker's quick reflexes the only thing keeping her from a pair of scraped knees.

   "Stop that," he scolded, scowling and giving the rear wheel a light kick. "What's got into you?" He was answered with a series of sharp beeps.

   "Your pet doesn't seem to like me," Alley muttered, backing away.

   "Hmm. Maybe 'cause you clocked me?" He winked. "She's kind've protective of me."

   "You deserved that and you know it!" she snapped.

   He sighed and scratched his head. "Yeah, I sorta did," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Stuck my foot where it didn't belong, I guess."

   "Yeah. Straight up your—" Alley broke off with a yelp when the bike suddenly rolled backward, the rear tire missing her foot by mere inches. "Okay, _that's_ it." She turned to stomp away. "No way in _hell_ are you gettin' me onto that homicidal machine! I've seen too many movies with these scenarios and they _never_ end well."

   "Now look what you did," Stoker scolded the bike. "Way to make an impression."

   It gave a sulky grumble in reply.

   "I don't wanna hear it." He waved it away. "Take yourself back to the garage and think about your actions. I'll walk." He strode after Alley, leaving the still-grumbling bike to roll off like a dejected puppy.

* * *

   They'd only been walking a few minutes more before they caught sight of Charley racing full-tilt up the street toward them, a panicked expression on her face. He easily deduced the cause of her fright, holding out his hands in a reassuring gesture as she approached. "Relax, we're both fine," he said.

   She came to a stumbling halt, bent double with hands resting on her knees for support as she gasped for breath. "You scared the crap outta me, Stoke," she scolded. "Your bike came roaring into the garage all by itself… I thought something had happened to you!"

   "Nah, just keeping a pretty lady company." He jerked a thumb in Alley's direction.

   Charley shot her an exasperated glance. "And do I even wanna know why you're here? I thought you were at the school."

   "Long story," Alley muttered.

   "She had a run-in with Limburger," Stoker supplied bluntly.

   Alley pursed her lips. "Okay, not that long."

   "What happened? Are you okay?" Charley started to look panicked again.

   "I'm fine." Alley's shoulders slumped. "We just talked, that's all."

   "After forcing her into his car at gunpoint," Stoker put in.

   Alley glared. "Feel free to take _yourself_ back to the garage," she snapped, pointing in its general direction.

   "Alley Cat, come on. You know we're just trying to help," Charley coaxed, slinging an arm around her cousin's shoulder. "Just tell us about it, and maybe we can come up with a game plan."

   "I wasn't supposed to let anybody know _anything_ ," Alley sighed, head drooping. "If Limburger finds out I told…"

   "He'll have to go through _us_ to get to _you_ ," Stoker growled, expression darkening. "And we won't make that easy for 'im. Trust me on that."

   "It's not him getting to me that's the problem," she complained. "It's what he _won't_ do that has me worried."

   "Which is…?" Charley prompted.

   Alley sighed again. "Just lemme get back and take a shower to wash this stink outta my hair. I'll fill you in on all the gory details later." At their dubious expressions, she cracked a small smile and held up four fingers. "Scout's honor."

   "Alley Cat, that's _still_ the—"

   "Oh, shut up."

* * *

   Feeling much more humane now that she could freely breathe without the lingering odor of Eu de Dead Fish in her nostrils, Alley sat down in the kitchen with the entire gang and related the story over plates of hot dogs.

   When she finished talking, there was immediate uproar, with all of the mice in favor of storming the tower and blowing it up again. Alley panicked at that. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything! You macho lunkheads are gonna ruin the whole thing and then I'll _never_ get back into college!" she wailed.

   Stoker ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "So, seems like this is my fault," he muttered, scowling. "Limburger got suspicious of my actions, now Alley's the one sufferin' for it."

   "It ain't like you knew he was gonna target her," Throttle pointed out.

   "Yeah. If we're gonna play the blame game, you might as well point fingers my way. He targeted _her_ 'cause she's related to _me_ ," Charley added.

   "Oh yeah! That's another thing." Alley glanced at her cousin, frowning. "He called me Parker. He knows my history. He deliberately dug it up for some reason."

   Charley tsked. "Now, what was that supposed to accomplish?"

   "Beats me. He seemed to think us not being blood related would—" Alley cut herself off, suddenly aware of four pairs of eyes fixed on her with varying levels of surprise. She raised an eyebrow at the gawping mice. " _What?_ "

   "You … ain't related?" Modo ventured, frowning.

   Alley blinked at him, then glanced at Charley. "Didn't you tell them?"

   "Oh. I guess it never came up. Honestly, never even occurred to me to mention it." The mechanic shrugged with a grin.

   "What it?" Vinnie asked.

   Alley shrugged. "I'm adopted," she replied simply, and smirked when four furry jaws dropped. "Look, it's easy. My birth dad died when I was really little, like barely two. My mom met the Davidsons when her car broke down, and she and Charley's uncle hit it off and eventually got married. That happened when I was five. Dad officially adopted me just after that and I became a Davidson, too. I mean, it's all there in public records and all, but it ain't like it's right up there for anyone to just stumble over—"

   "—which means Limburger deliberately went digging around fishing for info about you," Charley finished with a frown.

   "Yeah. He seemed to think I'd be willing to help him because we're not 'really cousins'." Alley quoted the air with her fingers.

   "Heh. Typical Plutarkian family values," Stoker snorted. "They ain't exactly known for their loyalty to kin. Theirs is a fish-eat-fish world. Literally. Plutarkian clans are spawned in the thousands, and, well … you ever watch those nature shows? About the fish and insects that hatch and it's basically survival of the fittest from the get go?"

   The women gaped at him. "You mean they actually try to _eat each other_?" Charley looked disgusted at the idea.

   "Yep." Vinnie wrinkled his snout. "The ones who survive to adulthood are the lucky ones."

   "Yeah," Modo put in. "An' it ain't no wonder they're all the baddest, meanest species in the known universe."

   "They'd be somebody's lunch if they weren't," Throttle finished with a shake of his head.

   "Wow. That's enough to almost make me feel sorry for them," Alley said. She was met with blank stares all around. "I said _almost_ ," she huffed, then sniggered. "Given the size of him, Limburger's probably an only child by this point."

   "Ugh. And here I didn't think I could _loathe_ the Plutarkians any more." Charley wrinkled her nose. "So, anyway, now that we know what Limburger is up to, what're we gonna do about it? He's gonna expect an answer soon. And he'll get suspicious if he doesn't get one."

   "I ain't just handin' over my plans," Stoker said firmly.

   "Well, nobody expects _that_. But I _do_ want to know what these plans of yours are." Charley fixed him with a stern look. "They dragged my family into this mess, so fair's fair. If he's desperate enough to find out what you're up to, who's to say he'll stop with Alley? What if he decides to expand out and go after our parents as well? They have no idea what's going on over here. They'll never stand a chance!"

   "He's never gone after them before," Throttle said doubtfully.

   "He's never gone after my cousin before, either. Now that the idea's in his brain…"

   Vinnie placed a comforting arm around Charley's shoulders. "Time to fess up, Stoke. What've you been up to down here that has you wanderin' off all the time?"

   The old general sighed and sat back in his chair, considering. "No harm in telling you now, I guess," he grunted, before getting to his feet and stomping down to the garage. He returned moments later carrying a long cylinder tube, from which he pulled several rolled blueprints. He spread them over the table, using cups and plates to hold down the curling edges. The mice and Charley gathered around to examine the plans. Alley took a quick glance but quickly gave up; they were a bunch of layouts for what looked like a weapon of some sort, but the writing was all in an alien language. Judging from the growing astonishment and beginnings of delight spreading on the boys' faces, though, it seemed to be something amazing.

   "Stoke! This is—" Modo couldn't finish the thought, swallowing several times. His single eye was suspiciously glassy.

   "Does this mean…?" Vinnie breathed, looking awed.

   "We-we're saved," Throttle murmured, shaking his head. His eyes were wide behind his specs. "Mars will be whole again." He seemed dazed.

   Alley leaned in to whisper to Charley, "Is it a super laser or something?"

   "No," she whispered back. "It's no weapon. I can't make sense of all of it, but it seems to be some kind of a … a conductor."

   "I call it the Regenerator." Stoker glanced around the table, smiling. "It's a matter-conversion device that will hopefully restore Mars to its former glory. It can create water, food, plant life … the possibilities are endless, really. Right now, it's nothin' more than an idea and a bunch've parts and supplies I've been gathering. It requires very specific ingredients that are difficult to come by. Ironically, the most important ingredient—its power source—are tetra-hydrocarbons, found only on earth."

   "So you've been out searching for them?" Charley asked.

   "Yep. In the wilds. Deep in the mountains. They're rare, though. And hard to get to."

   "Why all the secrecy, Coach?" Throttle asked. "We could've helped you search—"

   "Negative, soldier." Stoker shook his head. "Tetra-hydrocarbons are dangerous to work with. Too much exposure can lead to nasty results. Mutation of cells and other such pleasant experiences. Not only that, I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up too high, in case it's a failure." He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "I can't make promises that it'll even work. But I had to try."

   Charley placed her hands on Stoker's shoulder and squeezed. "Stoker, in all this time I've known you, you've never let us down. When you say you'll do something, you always do it and succeed. Mars has faith in you. You will definitely be able to build your Regenerator and it will work."

   "No pressure!" Alley chirped, smiling innocently at her cousin's exasperated glance.

   "We definitely can't let the stinkfish get their greasy hands on those plans," Modo rumbled, frowning. "It'd be disastrous."

   "Well, couldn't it be a _good_ thing?"

   All eyes turned to Alley, who squirmed under the sudden scrutiny. "Look, hear me out. I mean, this Regenerator is supposed to build stuff, right? Like natural resources?" She waved a hand. "Say it does work. So, the Plutarkians attack other planets 'cause they're on the endless quest for stuff for _their_ planet. But if they had a machine that _made_ endless resources, they wouldn't have to go out hunting down and stealing everyone else's! They could all go home and waste resources to their hearts' content and leave the rest of the universe alone. Happy endings all around! Yay!"

   Vinnie's jaw dropped. "Say, that ain't a bad idea!"

   "It does seem pretty logical," Modo agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

   "Nope, wouldn't work," Throttle grunted, earning a frown from Alley. "The stinkfish are fighters by nature. They're born straight into it and it's all they know. If Stoke's right and you can build anything with this machine, what's to stop 'em from makin' bigger, better weapons and ships and findin' some _other_ reason to attack planets?"

   "Have to agree," Stoker added. "Aside from that, tetra-hydrocarbons _aren't_ limitless. Their power would eventually run down, and as it's something the Regenerator _can't_ recreate, earth would always be a prime target for Plutarkians. They'd tear this planet apart looking for new replenishment."

   Alley sighed and Charley patted her shoulder. "It was a good idea, though. Smart thinking," she encouraged.

   "It was, actually." Stoker rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed in thought as he stared down at the blueprints. "It might actually hold a bit of merit."

   "Uh-oh." Charley raised an eyebrow. " _I_ recognize that look. What are you thinkin' now?"

   "I'm thinkin' I can recognize a good opportunity when I see one." Stoker glanced up, a sly grin curling his mouth. "Ladies and gents, I think it's time we set up a little trap of our own."

 


	23. Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

    “So … lemme get this straight.” Alley sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, lips pursed, arms crossed, one foot tapping against the cabinet door below her as she stared Stoker down. “You want me to march into that snake pit completely unarmed, _all by my lonesome_ , and hand him a bunch of fake plans. And then expect me to waltz on out again with all of my body parts still intact?”

    “You don't have to waltz. Walking's just fine,” Stoker teased, chuckling at her dirty look. “You won’t be by yourself,” he added patiently. “Charley’ll bug you. I’ll be listenin’ in, and if anything goes wrong, I’ll go straight in and bust you out of there.”

    “How come _we_ don’t get to go in and bust her out?” Vinnie whined.

    “Because I’d like to get her out with all her body parts still intact,” he deadpanned. “I doubt that’ll happen if I let you three anywhere _near_ the tower.”

    Alley huffed an exasperated sigh. “I don’t see what could _possibly_ go wrong with this idea,” she exclaimed sarcastically. “Except for … well, _everything_.”

    Stoker chuckled. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

    “How do you know he’ll even do what he says and sort my records out?” she complained. “What if I give him these plans and he just turns around and shoots me on the spot?”

    “Ain’t his style. He’ll do what he says, ‘cause I’m guessin’ he might be keepin’ you in his sights. If he thinks you pulled this off, he might consider makin’ you a permanent mole an’ have you do other jobs for him in the future.”

    Her jaw dropped. “Oh, swell. I’m gonna spend the rest of my _life_ being blackmailed by this jackass?”

    “Nah.” Stoker waved off her concern. “He might proposition a legitimate job. I’m sure he’ll make offers you can’t refuse.”

    Modo released a derisive snort. “Ol’ Lard Butt does have a pretty way with words when he wants somethin’,” the big mouse grumbled, fingering his bionic arm and earning a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Charley.

    Alley pursed her lips, recalling the conversation in the limo. “He did try pretty hard to convince me how rich and influential he is,” she muttered.

    “There. You see?”

    “But I am _not_ going to be his mole.”

    “Aw, why not?” Charley teased. “Sounds like a fun time. Hey, you could act as a double agent!”

    “Yeah, our own, personal James Bomb,” Throttle put in, grinning.

    Alley clapped her hands, face brightening. “Hey! You know what would _also_ be fun? Dunking me in a bucket of chum and tossing me into a tank of hungry sharks!”

    “Awwoooo! Now you’re speakin’ _my_ language!” Vinnie exclaimed, giving her a hearty clap on the back that sent her straight off the counter and onto the floor with a startled yelp. “Eh … whoops.” He offered a sheepish grin, using his tail to pick her up. “Dunno my own strength.”

    Alley just glared, limping to a safer corner of the kitchen.

    “So? Will you do it?” Stoker asked, catching her hand as she passed and smiling up at her. “Think of it this way. Not only will you help save your own planet, you’ll also help finally put an end to the decades-long war on Mars. You’ll be a hero.”

    “I don’t want to be a hero,” she grumbled, fidgeting. “Besides, even if this does work, as soon as Limburger figures out the plans aren’t real, what’s to stop him from trying to pull the same crap all over again? Or come up with some _new_ way to ruin my life?”

    “Because he’d know then that even blackmail won’t make you turn against your friends and family,” Charley replied firmly. “He’s not one to waste time and money on a scheme that he doesn’t believe is a hundred percent foolproof.” She stopped to consider, smirking. “Even if he _does_ turn out to be wrong a hundred percent of the time, thanks to my boys here.”

    There were cheers and the clinking of root beer bottles all around. Alley proceeded to look unimpressed.

    “And if it makes you feel better, the plans you’ll be handing over won’t be fake anyway,” Stoker said, grinning slyly.

    She blinked at him. “What, I’m gonna give him the real thing?”

    “Well … sort of.” He tapped the pages on the table. “I’ll be making a few … tweaks to these, and handing over the new set. All it takes is a minor change here and there, and my Regenerator can be turned into something else entirely. If the Plutarkians succeed in building it, it won’t create. It will destroy.” His smile was grim and hard. “It’ll have the power to set off a chain reaction that could cripple their entire planet, and hopefully turn the tide of this war, possibly end it for good.”

    “You’ll do to them what they did to Mars,” Throttle guessed.

    He nodded. “That’s the idea. If it works. There’s a chance they’ll actually study the plans closely enough to figure out the discrepancies and realize they’ve been altered, but my hopes are the Plutarkians are desperate enough for resources that they’ll cobble something together in haste and test it without double-checking.”

    “What if they cobble and test without double-checking _here_?” Alley asked.

    Stoker hesitated, frowning. “Hmmm. Suppose that’s always a possibility,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “His pet mad scientist probably wouldn’t be able to resist tinkering around with the plans…” He leaned back with a shrug, linking his hands behind his head. “Guess you’ll just have to convince Limburger that it’d be more beneficial for him to take it straight to Plutark.”

    “Oh, sure! Piece of cake!” Alley threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “How am I supposed to do _that_? I don’t know anything about anything about these guys!”

    “From what I know of them, getting promoted is a definite life goal,” Charley said thoughtfully. “The higher up the ladder, the better, and they’ll step all over each other to get there.” She nodded at the plans. “A tinker toy like this would probably earn Limburger a boot straight up to the top rung and all the benefits that come with it. All _you_ gotta do is drop a hint here and there… He’ll be all over that bait like stink on a dung heap.”

    Alley slumped. “What happened to just handing him the plans and walking out?”

    “So, there’ll be a little negotiating in between,” Stoker teased, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture.

    She huffed a sigh, raising her hands in defeat. “Well, seems like it’s all been decided,” she grumbled. “Just point me in the direction of the firing squad, and we’re good to go.” 

* * *

    Three hours later, Alley couldn’t help thinking she’d have been better off facing a firing squad. “I still fail to see,” she called over the roar of Stoker’s motorcycle, “how you talked me into getting onto this thing. It did try to kill me, you know!”

    He turned to her with a grin, plopping a spare helmet over her head. She recognized it as the one she’d worn when Throttle had taken her out, and a twinge of guilt shot through her. She shoved it aside, annoyed with herself. After all, it wasn’t like she and Throttle were _dating_ or anything. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to avoid her for most of the day. She felt just a little peeved about that. What happened between them had been just as much his fault as hers, she thought grouchily. Why was he even mad about it, anyway?

    A husky chuckle piped into her ear, distracting her. “My girl here didn’t try to kill you.” Stoker sounded far too innocent. “She was just playin’, that's all.”

    Alley rapped on the back of his helmet with her knuckles. “Do I _look_ that gullible to you?”

    Another laugh answered her. “She’ll behave herself, I promise. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.” His bionic tail coiled around her waist. It was surprisingly warm, but a lot harder than Throttle’s tail had been, the metal links pressing uncomfortably into her sides.

    She shifted. “Don’t hold on so tight. You’re gonna suffocate me,” she complained.

    “Sorry, honey. Hard to tell sometimes.” The links loosened a bit. “Better?”

    “Yeah.” She moved closer, slipping her arms around his chest as he roared out of the garage. “So, explain again exactly how taking a ride with you fits in with the plan?”

    “Your original job was to weasel information outta me without my knowledge, right?” he reminded her. “Turn my head with your ‘feminine wiles’?”

    “I guess…” she muttered, wishing she’d kept _that_ part of Limburger’s harebrained scheme a secret. It had been embarrassing enough to admit it, especially with all the guys sitting _right there_ , looking way too amused by the idea. And of _course_ Stoker wasn’t about to let it go.

    “Well, it’d look pretty suspicious if you showed up at the tower with all the info he’s lookin’ for just like that,” he continued. “We need to take our time. I figure if we want to pull this off, we’d better give Limburger a show. He’s probably keepin’ tabs on us both. He sees you ridin’ around with me, he’ll be more likely to take you at your word when you finally show up and hand over the plans.”

    She harrumphed. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to get me alone with you?” she accused.

    He chortled, clearly amused. “Well … there is _that_ ,” came the sly response, and she retaliated with a hard pinch to his ribcage and a yank on his fur that made him yelp and jump in surprise. His torso shook as he laughed. “Best we save _that_ kind of play for later,” he teased, far too amused for her liking. “This is only the first date.”

    Alley groaned and thumped her head against his back.

* * *

    They rode around the city for two hours, indulging in the age-old tradition of sightseeing, and Alley had to admit it was kind of enjoyable. She hadn’t really had a chance to explore downtown Chicago, and at night the view was exceptional, with everything lit up and glowing like a fairyland. Stoker seemed to know exactly where he was going, and she wondered how often he had been through the city to be able to navigate so easily. He drove slowly, giving her ample time to look, and eventually parked the bike, where they continued on foot.

    He led her on a walk through the streets, along the waterfront, and through a number of parks, waiting patiently whenever she paused at points of interest to snap pictures with her phone. They eventually reached a large lake with a well-lit, cobblestone path. Ordering her to take a rest, he headed for a nearby street vendor to order her a soft pretzel. The vendor did a triple-take at first sight of the large, talking mouse, but otherwise didn’t react as he intoned the amount owed and handed over the food.

    Alley mumbled a thank you when Stoker sat on the wooden bench beside her and handed over the pretzel. She watched the vendor watch them, casting furtive glances in their direction as he turned hotdogs on a spit. “I can’t believe he's not reacting,” she whispered. “Did he not _notice_ the mousy features and antenna?”

    Stoker chuffed a short laugh. “Humans are funny that way. When confronted with the strange and unexpected, they tend to concoct rationalizations to explain it away. Maybe I’m from a late-night party or one of those costume conventions or somethin’.” He leaned in to snag a bite of her pretzel at the same moment she was about to take one, making her blink, her cheeks warming at his proximity. He winked as he sat back, chewing thoughtfully. "Of course," he continued after he'd swallowed, "pretty sure that guy’s one of Limbuger's spies."

    Alley started. "How do you reckon _that_?"

    He hummed. "Made brief contact when I paid him. Got a sense of unease but not a whole lotta shock. Also.” He tapped his nose. "Got a real faint whiff of Plutarkian, which means he’s been in touch recently.”

    Alley shifted uneasily. “ _How_ recently?” she muttered, glancing around.

    Stoker reached down to squeeze her hand resting on the bench between them, offering a reassuring smile. “Don't worry. It ain't that surprisin', really. Limbuger's probably got stool pigeons all over this city, keepin' an eye on things for 'im."

    Alley's appetite was suddenly gone. She sighed, handing him the rest of the pretzel. "He’s that influential? How can people work for a guy like that? Don't they realize what he's trying to do?”

    Stoker shrugged. “Money and blackmail will buy almost anyone. He's got a lot of influence in the upper-class.”

    “And by upper-class, you mean the cops and stuff, right?”

    “Sure. But not just them. Take a look. Downtown Chi Town. Gorgeous, right? But the further out you get, the worse it is. Goin' from glitz to condemned in just a few miles of pavement.”

    “Yeah. And?”

    He scratched his chin, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Well, if you think about it, the whole setup's a lot like one of those medieval kingdoms,” he explained. “All the wealth and power presides in the center of the kingdom, within the highest walls. The royalty, the aristocrats and lords … all of the ones who hold the power over everyone else all live there. Outside those walls is everyone else. The commoners who depend on the overlords for their livelihoods, who don't get much of a say in what goes on, or much knowledge that anything _does_ go on. Even if their king is a black-hearted bastard that would sell out the entire kingdom to an enemy for a quick buck, they might not realize that until it's too late.”

    Alley thought it over, nodding slowly. “That … makes a lot of sense,” she murmured. “And lemme guess. Limburger is the king of Chi Town?” She gazed at the towering skyscraper in the distance, with two large Ls emblazoned on the side. “And _that's_ his castle.”

    “Yep.” Stoker nodded, looking disgusted. “That ain't far off. To most of the city, he's a friggin' _saint._ Take a look at some o' those charity lists sometime. His name appears on almost all of 'em. But don't be fooled; they ain't donations, they're bribes, and they're what goes a long way to keepin' everyone with any influence under his thumb, and all his secrets safe.”

    Alley eyeballed the vendor again, who continued to watch them discreetly even as he served up food to two more pedestrians. The more she found out about her foe, the more uneasy she became. “So, if he really has eyes and ears all over the place, how do we know he hasn’t already figured out this is just a setup?"

    "We don't. But I figure since nobody's come roarin' up and opened fire on us yet, it’s safe to believe he still thinks you’re on his side. As long as we keep up the charade, of course."

    She glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “And just how long _are_ we supposed to keep up the charade? I mean, we drag this out too much and he's eventually gonna realize something’s up.”

    “What, you’re not havin' fun? Guess I need to step up my game a bit. Gotta impress the lady,” he teased.

    “…I kinda think you're missing my point.”

    He chuckled, getting to his feet and offering a hand. She reached to take it, allowing him to pull her up and lead her further along the cobbled path surrounding the lake.

    They approached a large gazebo that was strung with twinkling fairy lights. A number well-dressed couples were dancing inside, with more mingling on the lawn, talking and laughing with food and wine in hand. Most likely a late wedding reception, Alley mused, watching them. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the crowd parted in the gazebo, and she caught a glimpse of white satin and lace. Strains of music reached her ears from the small orchestra playing on a makeshift bandstand, as a dark-haired man in a sleek black tuxedo crooned into a microphone.

    “Care for a dance?” Stoker asked, nudging her.

    She shot him a droll look and crossed her arms. “I dunno, Stoke. I don't usually make a habit of crashing other people's parties. It's generally considered impolite.”

    “Aw, they won't even know we're here,” he scoffed, moving closer to the gazebo. She huffed and followed him off the lit path, into deeper shadows cast by the trees. His eyes gleamed as he smiled down at her. “Don't worry, honey. I promise not to complain when you step on my feet.”

     “Uh, excuse _me_ , sir, but I think it's _your_ big clodhoppers we gotta be worryin' about,” she sniffed with a haughty toss of her hair.

    He laughed. “Well, seems like there's only one way to solve this disagreement, eh?” He held out his hand in invitation, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

    She hesitated, then rolled her eyes and accepted it. “Oh, why not? Lead the way, Astaire.”

    “Who?”

    An unexpected laugh bubbled out of her as he spun her into an easy dance, just as the band kicked into an upbeat version of Van Morrison's _Moondance_. “Fred Astaire is an old time actor. One of the greats. Not surprised you never heard of him, though. He never starred in a James Bomb movie,” she teased.

    Stoker laughed and spun her out, then in again, catching her effortlessly. Alley had to admit that she was impressed. His dancing was definitely better than she'd expected, and so far her feet remained untrampled. She couldn't say that about the last guy she'd danced with. Chaz might've been handsome, but he'd been born with two left feet, which she'd discovered the hard way at her senior prom. “I’m amazed,” she commented as the song wound down and the next began. “Looks like you’re not just talk, after all.”

     “Hush,” he scolded lightly, slowing their pace. “I’m tryin’ t’ listen.”

    She tilted her head, realizing that the new song was a cover of Bon Jovi’s _You Had Me from Hello_. She closed her eyes and Stoker pulled her closer, and the dark-haired singer crooned into his microphone:

 _When we walk into a crowded room it's like we're all alone_  
    Everybody tries to kidnap your attention  
    You just smile and steal the show

 _You come to me and take my hand_  
    We start dancin' slow  
    You put your lips up to my ear and whisper way down low

 _From the first time I saw you it felt like coming home_  
    If I never told you I just want you to know  
    You had me from hello

    Alley had heard this song dozens of times, but had never paid such close attention to the lyrics before. The melody was lovely, the words soft, romantic, sensual… It was the perfect song for a pair of newlyweds. Or two would-be lovers dancing in the shadows.

    Her heart kicked in her chest, and she was suddenly _aware_. Of his breath soft on her neck. Of his hands firm at her waist. Of her arms looped loosely around his shoulders, fingers buried in his soft mane, and bodies pressed so closely together that she could feel him breathing.

    _H-he isn't the one I should be doing this with,_ she realized, uneasy. She removed her arms and slowly stepped away, gaze lowered.

    Stoker let her go, but she could feel his eyes on her; she knew that he'd sensed _something_ , but to his credit, he didn't push the issue. “Um, w-we should probably get back to the garage soon,” she mumbled, unable to meet his knowing gaze. “I'm sure we gave Limburger enough eye candy for one night.”

    “Sure, honey. Let's go home,” he replied easily.

    When she chanced a peek at him, his expression was carefully neutral, but he reached out to snag her hand, threading their fingers together as they walked. His palm flush to hers was warm, a bit calloused, his grip firm and comforting. And she couldn't seem to make herself shake it off the entire walk back to the bike. She told herself it was strictly for appearance's sake, desperately ignoring the warm, fluttery butterflies swarming her belly.

    She was afraid to admit that she knew better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics to You Had Me at Hello (c) Bon Jovi. Awesome song. Highly recommend.


	24. Twenty-Four

   "You guys got back awfully late last night," came Charley's idle comment at breakfast the next morning. "Where'd you go?"

   Alley paused, fork in mouth, as three pairs of curious eyes turned her way. Behind her, she could almost _feel_ Stoker's smirk. She affected her best casual air. "No place special," she mumbled around her fried eggs. "Just took a drive around the city and then walked a bit."

   "Crashed a wedding," Stoker added, making her choke on the eggs.

   "We did not!" She glared over her shoulder. "They didn't know we were there, remember?"

   His eyes crinkled as he grinned. "You're a pretty good dancer. You only stepped on my toes twice," he teased.

   Cheeks growing hot, she turned her back on him. "'Cause your big feet kept getting in the way," she grumbled, shoveling more eggs into her mouth.

   "Hmmm…" Charley waggled her eyebrows. "You do know what they say about men and big feet, right?"

   The mice exchanged confused glances. "Nope," Stoker admitted. "What do they say?"

   Alley slapped down her fork. "For heaven's sake, Charley, _don't encourage him_!"

   Her cousin laughed, and Alley decided she'd had enough breakfast. "I'm done," she muttered, getting up to take her plate to the sink. She turned to leave the room, only to be brought up short by a tug on her ankle. She glanced down to find the tip of a metal tail had snaked around it, holding her in place. Her glare snapped up to clash with Stoker's impish gaze and she pursed her lips with displeasure, raising an eyebrow.

   "Sorry, honey. It's got a mind of its own sometimes," he said, the very picture of innocence.

   "Yeah. And I'll bet it's attached to your _dick_ ," she snapped, yanking her leg free.

   Vinnie guffawed and Charley nearly spit out her coffee. Modo raised his single eye heavenward with a sigh, shaking his head. Throttle raised an eyebrow and peered at her over his specs, amused.

   Stoker just grinned and gave her a wink. "Cheeky brat."

   "Horny goat," she shot back, turning to stomp off to her room, their laughter following her.

* * *

   Alley tried to tell herself that Throttle wasn't _really_ avoiding her; it was just coincidence that every time she tried to get him alone, he was nowhere to be found. She'd been trying for most of the week to corner him and talk, to no avail. As determined as she was to hash things out and get it all sorted, he seemed equally determined to ignore her altogether.

   Her frustration was reaching its boiling point, and on Friday morning, after spending nearly an hour searching for him—Really, _how_ does a six-and-a-half-foot mouse just up and disappear?—she decided that enough was enough.

   She stomped down to the garage, where Modo and Vinnie were tinkering around in the engine of a beat-up minivan. Charley had decided to take Alley up on her suggestion of having the boys help out more around the garage, and had dragged in an old clunker of a van for them to work on. "If you fellas can get this thing up and running and not manage to blow up my garage in the process," she'd challenged, "then I'll know you're ready and able to take on the _real_ work."

   Throttle was, of course, nowhere to be found. But his bike was parked right next to the other two in its usual spot, so he had to be around there _somewhere_. Right? Her eyes narrowed. "Anyone seen Throttle lately?" she asked with as much sweetness as she could muster.

   The two mice exchanged glances. "He was around a little while ago," Modo said.

   "Yeah, 'til Charley came in, sayin' you were lookin' for 'im. He muttered somethin' about somethin' an' took off like his tail was on fire," Vinnie added with a shrug. "Ain't seen 'im since."

   "I _knew_ it!" Alley stamped her foot and muttered a string of words that made both of them raise their eyebrows in astonishment. "He's been treating me like a walking disease all week! I wanna know _what_ bug crawled up his ass, and I wanna know _now_." She pinned them with a glare. "I don't suppose either of _you_ could shed a light on the subject?"

   The bros exchanged uneasy glances. "You should be askin' Throttle," Vinnie mumbled, focusing his attention back on the engine. "I dunno nothin'."

   "Gladly! Any ideas on how to glue his feet to the floor? Seems like the only way I can get him to stand still long enough to talk! Is he pissed off at me about something?"

   "Nah, he ain't pissed," Modo denied. "I think he's feelin' guilty."

   "Because of … what happened the other night? Because of Carbine?" Her cheeks turned pink. "We didn't get _that_ carried away," she complained. "It's not like we _slept_ together or anything."

   "I ain't hearin' this!" Vinnie screwed up his face and stuck his fingers in his ears.

   Modo huffed. "It ain't 'cause of Carbine why he's feelin' guilty." He paused to consider. "Well, okay, maybe it is. A bit. But I think it's more 'cause of … well, _that_." He gestured vaguely at her, and she glanced down at herself, confused.

   "Sorry, I'm not following."

   "Those, ya know … the bruises all over ya," he mumbled.

   Alley couldn't be sure, but she suspected he was blushing. Vinnie _definitely_ was; his ears had turned dull pink through the fur to prove it. Unfortunately, so was she, if the heat in her face was any indication. She sputtered, "What, haven't you guys ever seen hickeys before? The way he was—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "It's normal! And most of 'em are faded already! 'Sides, I'm sure he's left _plenty_ of 'em all over Carbine in the past!"

   " _I ain't hearin' this!_ " Vinnie scowled at her.

   She scowled back. "Then little boys ought to leave the room until the grownups finish talking," she snapped, earning a laugh from Modo.

   "Look, I dunno what Throttle an' Carbine get up to when they're together, but considerin' she's covered in fur, whatever it is ain't so … so…"

   "So glaringly obvious," Vinnie finished with a snort.

   Alley felt like she'd been punched. "So, you're saying he's … what? _Disgusted_ every time he looks at me now? Guess he should've thought of _that_ when he was practically ravishing me by the lake!"

   Vinnie abruptly threw down the wrench he was holding and muttered something about root beer before stomping out of the garage. They watched him go for a second, before Alley shook her head. "He's gonna have to get used to it if he's gonna insist on dating my cousin," she said dryly. "I'm sure he'll be leaving his fair share of bruises on _her_ in the future." She grimaced. "Actually, I kind've agree with him. Stuff I _don't_ wanna know."

   Modo chuckled. "Those two'll be fine. As for you an' Throttle, it ain't that he's disgusted. Like I said, he's feelin' guilty. He ain't got experience with humans, ya know. Ya'll are so delicate compared to us. He probably thinks he hurt you. An' where we come from, any male hurts a female is the lowest sorta scum."

   Alley sighed and shook her head. "That dumbass," she muttered. "Why do I always manage to fall for the boneheads? My taste in men _sucks_."

   He raised an eyebrow at that, a corner of his mouth pulling up. "Guess you two really do gotta have a chat," he commented idly. "Ya look up on the roof yet? We don't go up there much in summer. Too hot. But with the weather coolin' down an' all, makes for a pretty good thinkin' spot."

   In point of fact, the roof was the one place Alley hadn't even considered checking, given it was flat, dirty, and held nothing of interest. And yes, much too hot during the day, especially for those rare folk who happened to wear fur coats all year round.

   "Thanks. I'll take a look," she mumbled distractedly as she turned on her heel to head up to the apartment, hardly hearing the amused "Good luck!" that followed her.

* * *

   Throttle was indeed on the roof. He sat cross-legged on top of the small metal utility shed that housed the building's breaker switches and several maintenance supplies. His back was toward her and, given that he hadn't even turned his head when hers appeared over the top of the fire escape, he must have been deep in thought.

   Or maybe he'd just fallen asleep; she couldn't really tell from that angle.

   Alley sucked on her teeth, pondering the best way to get his attention as she crept quietly over the ledge onto the roof. Shoving him off the shed felt like a good idea, but after a moment's thought, she settled for a more subtle approach.

   She shuffled at the gravel with one foot, searching until she found a suitable stone, slightly rounded from wear and not too large. Would have made an excellent skipping stone at the lake, she mused as she hefted it in her hand a few times, testing its weight. Ah, well. It was adequate for her purpose now. She drew back her arm, took careful aim, and lobbed it across empty space toward her target. She had just enough time to think she'd have gotten at _least_ five skips out of that one, before the pebble inevitably reached its goal and bounced smartly off the back of Throttle's head.

   He yelped in shock and, to her delight, she had the added bonus of watching him fall off the utility shed anyway, landing on the opposite side. _Score!_

   He popped up in an instant, glaring around the rooftop, shades knocked askew. Surprise flickered when his eyes landed on her before the glower returned full-force. "What did ya do that for?" he snapped, rubbing his abused skull.

   "There," she sniffed, crossing her arms. "I just put a bruise on your thick head. We're even. Now will you kindly stop acting like such a jackass?"

   He gaped at her for a second. "H-huh?"

   She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "We need to talk."

   His expression shuttered and he turned his back to her again. "Ain't got nothin' to say," he mumbled. Then he yelped when a second pebble bounced off his skull. " _Ow!_ " He glared over his shoulder. "Stop that!"

   "It's funny. All these weeks I thought you were a giant talking mouse, not a giant talking _chicken_ dressed like one," she taunted.

   He glowered. "You lookin' for a fight?"

   "Sure!" She held up both fists. "If that's what it takes to get you to open your big mouth and talk to me, bring it! I can take ya!"

   He gaped at her … and then promptly dissolved into laughter, bending over and clutching his stomach in his mirth.

   She pouted. " _Now_ who's lookin' for a fight?" she grumbled, dropping her hands to her sides. When he continued to chortle, she huffed. "Fine. Keep laughing. When I _break your arm_ you won't think it's so funny." Of course that threat only served to make him laugh harder, leaning against the shed for support. Despite herself, her own lips started twitching in response. He looked so _cute_ when he was caught in the throes of uncontrollable hilarity.

   His chortles finally died, and he leaned back to catch his breath, wiping his eyes under his specs.

   "Better?" she asked with saccharine sarcasm.

   He glanced at her, a snort escaping as his mouth started twitching all over again. At her glare, he managed to pull himself together, jerking his chin at the shed before hopping up to its roof again.

   Taking it as an invitation, Alley climbed the rusty ladder screwed into the wall, seating herself beside him on the roof with her legs dangling over the edge. "So," she began amicably, "why are you avoiding me? Is it because of the other night? I'm sorry. Maybe I should've stopped it sooner, but I was kinda … caught up in the moment." She blushed and glanced away. "I'd go back in time and fix it, but that's not really an option. So can't you just forgive me and move on?"

   "Th-that ain't why—I'm not _mad_ at you," he sputtered, gaping at her.

   "Then why have you been skulking around acting like I've got some contagious plague all week? The only time I ever see you is when everyone is together. It's like you're afraid to be alone with me."

   He pushed up his specs to rub at his eyes in a tired gesture. "I already said I don't blame you for any of this. I'm the one who lost my cool," he muttered. "I got too carried away. I … _hurt_ you." He looked down at his hands folded in his lap, shamefaced. "All those marks … I didn't know I'd been so rough with you."

   Alley sighed deeply, reached up … and calmly brought her fist to the back of his head.

   " _Ow!_ " he yelped in shock. "Why do you keep _hitting_ me?"

   "Because you seem to be permanently stuck in stupid mode," she said dryly. "I figured whacking the reset button a few times might knock you out of it, but it doesn't seem to be working."

   His jaw dropped, eyes wide behind his specs as he sputtered for a comeback.

   "Throttle, if you'd been hurting me, do you _honestly_ believe I'd have let it continue?" she snapped. "Sure, you're bigger and heavier than me, but one well-placed knee to the groin would've put an end to it _real_ fast. I doubt even big, tough Martian mice are immune to _that_ sort of pain."

   He flinched, shifting away ever-so-slightly, and she chuckled. "But … I _bit_ you," he reminded her, embarrassed.

   She considered. "Yeah. You did. That kinda stung. Don't do it again," she told him sternly. When he proceeded to look even more miserable, she rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove. "I'm _teasing_ , you idiot. Stop looking like I just kicked your puppy."

   He frowned and turned to stare out across the city. She gave his arm a shake to draw his attention back to her. "Look, the important thing here is that when I told you to, you _stopped_. There aren't a whole lotta guys I can say that about," she continued. "Most of the dates I've had, those guys wouldn't back off so easily. They could have definitely used a lesson or two from you on how to respect a girl's wishes."

   He shrugged, looking away again. "Their mamas didn't raise 'em right, that's all," he mumbled.

   "Their mamas didn't raise 'em at all. I suspect most of 'em probably crawled out of a sewer, given their manners," she joked, trying to get him to smile. It didn't work. She sighed and idly kicked her feet against the metal wall.

   "Why date 'em then?" he asked after a moment.

   She blushed faintly, shrugging one shoulder and looking away. "They asked. And they were all cute, so why not? I've always liked a pretty face. I'm kinda shallow that way," she mumbled, embarrassed to admit it to him.

   He considered for a moment before sliding her a sidelong glance. "This mean you think I'm cute?" he teased.

   She blinked at him, surprised, before a smirk touched her lips. "First off, what _we_ had wasn't a date," she sniffed. "But … sure. You're not hard on the eyes." She gave an offhand shrug. "Once you get past all the fur."

   "Gee, thanks," he deadpanned.

   She smiled. "I wouldn't have made out with you if I didn't _like_ you, Throttle."

   He glanced away, shifting uneasily. "What about Stoker?"

   Her smile disappeared. "What _about_ Stoker?"

   "You two've been awful chummy lately, takin' all those late-night rides and all," he mumbled.

   Her frown deepened. "Well, yeah. It's part of the plan. Remember? That plan where I go into Limburger's tower, risking life and limb to hand over a set of papers that'll hopefully bring the next big bang to his planet?"

   "That ain't what I meant."

   She shook her head, confused. "This setup depends on Limburger believing that I weaseled the info away from Stoker, and to do that, he needs to see us _together_. As often as possible. So us going into the city and acting all … lovey and stuff is kinda necessary. But it's just a ruse. It doesn't mean jack. Besides, we haven't done more than hold hands. Well, he's walked with an arm around my shoulders once or twice. And there was the dancing that first night. But that's it! He knows not to push the boundaries."

   "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his sights on you."

   Alley cocked her head. "Are you _jealous_?" she asked, a slow grin spreading across her lips.

   "What? No!" he yelped, eyes wide. "I just don't wanna go steppin' on anyone's toes, is all! Bros before babes. It's the Freedom Fighters' Code!"

   "How unbelievably sexist of you," she sniffed. "I suppose the 'babes' don't get any say in the matter?"

   "No, that ain't—"

   "What are you so worked up about, anyway? You _have_ a girlfriend." Alley turned in her seat, crossing her legs under her to face him fully, expression serious. "Let me make it clear. In case you didn't already figure it out, I really _like_ you, Throttle. Like, _way_ more than any of those other guys I dated. There's this saying, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. Well…" She blushed and glanced away, shifting. "You're my prince," she mumbled shyly. Upon seeing his astonished expression, she hastened to add, "But I don't have any intention of getting between you and Carbine! And I don't have any desire to be some stand-in for her until you can see her again. You are unavailable and I respect that."

   He tried to talk, but she held up a hand.

   "As for Stoker, he flirts a lot but … flirting is just flirting. And I can't really take him seriously when he acts that way. I don't dislike him, though. I respect him, and I certainly don't intend to play on his supposed feelings just because the guy I want doesn't want me back. That's a shitty thing to do to anyone."

   Throttle looked like he wanted to protest, but the rumble of an approaching truck caught her attention, drawing her eyes to the road. A large, bulky van was lumbering down the street, bouncing over the pitted ruts, swerving to avoid the worst of them. It started to slow as it reached the garage. "Oh. Charley's supplies delivery must be in. Guess I'd better go help her check them in," she said, getting to her feet. She suddenly wanted this conversation to be over, embarrassed that she had said so much. Had she _really_ just told Throttle he was her _prince_? Like some sappy little teenage fangirl? She supposed she could be grateful that he hadn't laughed her clean off the roof. Ugh.

   She stretched the kinks out of her back, dusting stray rust flakes off her jean shorts. "Anyway," she said, turning to face him and forcing a smile to her face, "how about we both do ourselves a favor and just pretend this entire thing never happened, okay? Just put it out of our heads. We're friends, that's it. I don't make any weird advances, and you don't tiptoe around acting like I'm gonna jump your bones next time I see you. Deal?" She held out her hand.

   He gazed at it as he got slowly to his feet, his own hand extending. His fingers slid and meshed with hers, palms pressed together. Her heart skipped a few beats at the contact. "Maybe that ain't why I was avoidin' you," he murmured, his serious gaze meeting hers over the top of his specs. "Maybe I was just tryin' to avoid temptation." He stepped closer, eyes lidding. "Knowin' how you feel … it's makin' things mighty difficult," he added, his husky voice deepening to a low, sensual purr. "Maybe it's _your_ bones you should be worryin' about."

   She sucked in a breath as his free hand slid into her hair. His thumb stroked lightly along her jaw and she unconsciously leaned into his touch. "Th-that's not fair," she protested around a shaky sigh. "H-how are we supposed to stay friends when you keep saying such unfriendly things?"

   She felt his heat as he stepped even closer, breath stirring her hair. "Maybe we ain't," he replied, before his mouth came to rest against her parted lips.

   He kissed softly, slow and gentle, and although she wanted to protest, she was helpless to act as he draped her arms around his shoulders, then slid his about her waist, pulling her close. His tongue dipped in, tasting carefully, and she was lost in his scent and taste and touch, just as incredible as she remembered. His tail snaked around her leg, and she decided that she was perfectly content to stand there and let him thoroughly seduce her on the hot, dirty tin roof.

   Unfortunately, the loud, highly-obnoxious clearing of a throat quickly put an end to _that_ idea.

   They broke apart with startled gasps, panting for breath, staring at each other with wide eyes before turning reluctant gazes toward the fire escape.

   Alley was both gratified and annoyed to find Charley standing on the ladder, chin propped on the crossed arms resting on the ledge as she watched the show with raised eyebrows. "Sorry to disrupt, kids, but Stoker just brought home a very nice surprise. Thought you'd both like to know." Without another word, she clambered down the ladder.

   They glanced at each other, before Throttle hopped off the shed, reached up to lift her down, letting her slide along his body until her feet touched ground. She forced her shaky legs to move as she followed him along the rooftop to the fire escape, clambering down to her bedroom window and climbing in. He was already at the apartment stairs, and she hastened to keep up as he took them easily.

   There were people in the garage, she realized. Several of them. And she didn't know them. And every single one of them had fur and tails. She stopped dead in her tracks, nearly running into Throttle's back; he had also stopped to gape, looking as flabbergasted as she felt. "Who _are_ they?" she whispered.

   One mouse in particular seemed to have caught his attention, his eyes locked on a small female with pale gray fur and long black hair. She turned to him, a smile brightening her scarred face at the sight of him. "Hey there, stranger," she called softly, and Alley felt an immediate sinking in the pit of her stomach. She knew who this was.

   " _C-Carbine._ " The name slipped from Throttle's mouth on an astonished breath, and all the strength seemed to flood from his legs as he abruptly dropped to the floor.

 


	25. Twenty-Five

    Alley was rather proud of herself for the way she managed to get her emotions under control so quickly. Even though she was still flushed and shaky. Even though Throttle’s kiss was still seared into her _soul_ , she kept it together. She didn’t pass out, and she didn’t turn tail and flee back up the stairs to her bedroom, where she could hyperventilate in peace. She didn’t even go after Throttle and attempt to choke him with his own tail when he finally got his feet under him and practically flew into Carbine’s arms, the biggest grin she’d ever seen plastered all over his face.

    No, she pasted the brightest smile she could muster onto her face and greeted the new arrivals as introductions were made by Stoker. She suspected she wasn’t actually _fooling_ anyone, and especially not Charley, who knew better. But at least they politely allowed her the dignity of pretending.

    Aside from Carbine (whom Charley also hugged and greeted like a close friend), two others had come along. The second was Modo’s nephew, Rimfire, whose rambunctiousness seemed on par with Vinnie’s, although he possessed a much larger dose of good manners. Alley was hard-pressed to get him to _not_ call her ma'am, especially since, according to Modo, they were around the same age. He was cute, though, the way he was so much like a mini-version of his uncle.

    The third mouse was a stranger even to Charley and the guys. She was a pretty little female with coloring very similar to Throttle’s, but her waist-length braid was deep sable, with a matching patch of fur covering her left eye and extending back to her ear, disappearing into her hair. Her eyes were pale blue, which surprised Alley; she’d assumed Martian eyes only came in shades of red and brown.

    “The name is Gunner,” the female announced with a smart salute. “I’m the general’s second-in-command and her personal bodyguard.”

    “Since when did _you_ ever need a bodyguard?” Vinnie asked in surprise.

    Carbine looked annoyed. “It isn’t my idea,” she complained. “Seems like since I took over the Freedom Fighters, I’ve become something of a prime target for the enemy.”

    “There have already been _three_ assassination attempts on her life,” Gunner added, shooting her a droll look. “All of which came from _within_ the ranks. You are not invulnerable, General.”

    “We caught the spy, though, so—”

    “Yes, but where there is one, there may be more. Catatonian shape-shifters are not to be underestimated,” Gunner cut in, sounding bored; this was clearly an argument she was long used to holding.

    “Wait, wait. What’s a Catatonian?” Alley asked, curiosity piqued.

    “Another alien race,” Vinnie replied. He wrinkled his snout. “Nasty buggers. Don’t like ‘em.”

    “Probably don't help ya go into uncontrollable sneezin' fits whenever one’s around,” Modo teased, earning a sulky glare.

    “Ain't my fault I’m allergic to cats,” Vinnie pouted.

    “Wait.” Alley raised both eyebrows. “They’re _cats_?”

    “Yep.”

    “Giant _talking_ cats.”

    “They ain’t the tiny, cuddly kind.”

    “Cats and mice. That’s _adorable_.” Alley held up her hand, grinning at Vinnie’s expression. “And I gotta know, _how_ are you allergic to cats? You’re covered in fur!”

    “Honestly, Alley,” Charley sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

    “What?” Her eyes sparkled with humor. “It’s a valid question!”

    “Different kinda fur, sweetheart,” Vinnie sniffed, crossing his arms.

    “Well, darn. Guess buying a kitten is out of the question.” She snapped her fingers in mock-disappointment.

    “What I wanna know,” Modo hastily cut in before a squabble could ensue, “is since when are Catatonians involved in this war?”

    “Anyone can be bought,” Stoker growled, clearly unhappy with the new development. “Seems like Plutark might be trying to expand its ranks.”

    “I’m not so sure Plutark has anything to do with this one.” Carbine frowned, rubbing her chin. “We’re trying to get more information, but our sources are stretched thin. I can’t imagine what they would want, though. Mars has absolutely nothing of value that might tempt them to attack us. Not anymore, at least.”

    “Think the Sand Raiders might be involved?” Throttle asked.

    “Or the rats?” Modo’s eye glowed red for a second.

    “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Carbine sighed, rubbing the back of her neck in a tired gesture. “We sure could use you boys back on Mars. Especially you, Stoker.” She shot an annoyed glance at her uncle. “You practically demanded us to come down here, babbling something about a secret project that might change the course of the war. Care to explain yourself further?”

    “Yep.” Stoker slapped his thighs and got to his feet. “How about we all head up to the kitchen. Alley can whip us up one of her amazin’ dinners, and I’ll fill you in on the details.”

    Alley's eyes widened, casting a hasty glance in Throttle’s direction. He stood next to Carbine, her arm wrapped about his waist, his around he shoulders. Their tails were intertwined. They fit so _well_ together. Alley’s heart thumped, but not in the light, fluttery way it usually did whenever Throttle was in the room with her. It felt more like a sick lurch, followed up with a faint bout of queasiness. She hastily swallowed it down. There was no _way_ she could be crammed into that tiny kitchen, surrounded by all those empaths, watching her crush and his girlfriend acting so cozy with each other, and not give _something_ away. She wasn’t a friggin’ _saint_ , damn it!

    “I can’t,” she blurted in a moment of blind panic, receiving several surprised glances in return. “I got a text. From Chex. I’m meeting her soon. For dinner,” she lied, backing up the stairs. She made a show of checking the clock on the wall. “Gotta start getting ready now, actually. Uh…” She nodded at the new arrivals. “It was nice to meet you all. Welcome to earth! I’ll, uh, see you later.” She turned and fled to her bedroom.

    “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ,” she growled to herself, pacing the length of the room as she typed on her phone madly. “Way to be subtle, moron! Like _that_ wasn’t as obvious as a train wreck!”

    Her tirade was disrupted by a light tapping at the door. “May I come in?”

    She was both relieved and disappointed to hear Charley’s voice, unlocking the door and swinging it open. Charley entered and closed it behind her, regarding her cousin with concern. “You okay, Alley-Cat?”

    “Right as rain!” she chirped, with a little too much cheer. She took a deep, calming breath, and shook her head. “No. Not really. But, I will be. I just … need some time to adjust, that’s all. I’ll get over it! Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been dumped, right?”

    Charley shook her head, sitting on the bed and crossing her legs under her. “Throttle owes you an apology.”

    “Damn _right_ , he does.” Alley huffed, plopping down beside her. “I went up there, poured out my _heart_ to him—and that right there was the dumbest thing _ever_ —and then I told him we’d be better off just pretending it never happened. And instead of agreeing with me, noooo, he had to go and … and… Well, _you_ saw what he did.” Alley buried her face in her knees. “I called him my friggin’ _prince_ ,” she wailed. “ _How embarrassing is that?_ ”

    Charley laughed despite herself. “I admire you for holding it together as well as you did,” she admitted, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “If it was me, I’d have just punched him in his cute little nose and been done with it.”

    “That _would_ make me feel better.” Alley sighed wistfully.

    “So what’s holding you back?”

    “Um … Carbine would probably kill me?”

    “You’re probably right,” Charley agreed with a chuckle. “She is one scary lady when she’s pissed.”

    “…That does _not_ help.”

    “Uh, sorry.”

    Alley’s phone buzzed and she picked it up to read the message. “Oh, good. I’m saved,” she breathed, slumping with relief. “That was Chex. She’s working, but she gets off at five and will meet me for dinner.” She gave Charley a pleading look. “Can I borrow your truck? I really want to get out of here for awhile.”

    “I can do you one better.” The redhead grinned and pulled a set of keys from her pocket. “Meant to give them to you earlier, but I got a little distracted.”

    Alley’s face brightened. “Priscilla's fixed?” she squealed.

    “Yep. Got that last part in early and installed it last night. Thought I’d surprise you. Seems like you could use some good news for a change.”

    “You are the _best_!” Alley glomped her cousin in a big hug and hopped up to raid her closet. “Okay. Dinner … dinner… What to wear for dinner…?” she mumbled, pulling one outfit out after another.

    Charley decided to leave her to it—Really, what was wrong with what she already had on? She would never understand her cousin—and headed out to the living room, where the guys were busily filling the new arrivals in on their latest adventures. She frowned when she saw Vinnie flirting Gunner, forcing back a twinge of unease. Vinnie flirted with _everyone_ of the female persuasion. She should be well used to that by now.

    She found Stoker in the kitchen, fixing a large pot of coffee. “I think Carbine might prefer tea,” she informed him, pulling a kettle out of the top cupboard. “Luckily, Alley drinks a lot of it herself, so there are plenty of choices.” She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to heat, fixing a shrewd gaze on the old general.

    “What?” he asked after a moment, casting a questioning glance in her direction.

    “So, ET phoned home, huh?”

    He grinned. “I figured it was about time to let the Freedom Fighters in on my little secret. Spirits have been pretty low up there lately. News like this might rally ‘em enough to keep hangin’ on for a while longer.”

    “Hmmm.” Charley pulled out several delicate teacups and no less than five different boxes of tea.

    “Fancy,” Stoker teased.

    “Yeah. And expensive. And they belong to Alley, so I’ll kindly ask you lunkheads to not break any of ‘em, okay?”

    “Sure thing, boss.”

    Charley leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, waiting for the water to heat. “So. Can’t help thinking your sudden desire to share all your secrets coincides nicely with the opportunity to get rid of the competition for Alley’s affections,” she commented idly.

    “Nope.” Stoker didn’t bat an eye. “More like preventative measures.”

    “For?” She raised a challenging eyebrow.

    Stoker turned to face her, his expression serious. “That girl looks at Throttle with those come-hither eyes, projectin’ all that interest without even tryin’. The punk’s a sensitive empath. Course he’s pickin’ up on those signals. He’s also a red-blooded male, and between watchin’ you and Vinnie carryin’ on, and missin’ his own lady, he’s probably feelin’ that loss somethin’ fierce. Eventually he’s gonna crack an’ start answerin’ that siren call. Hell, he already almost did. And then the only thing that’ll happen is all three of ‘em end up hurt.”

    “And how do you figure that?”

    “Throttle will lose Carbine, ‘cause she ain’t the type to forgive and forget so easily. Their relationship is tenuous most times; a betrayal like that’d demolish it, and Throttle will end up sufferin’ for it.”

    “Even though he’ll have Alley?” Charley asked softly. “You didn’t see, Coach. What I walked in on earlier…” She shook her head, smile grim. “They’re already way deeper into it than you imagine. You bringing Carbine here might’ve just done some serious damage to Alley’s heart. He isn’t a passing fling to her. And you have no right to interfere with their choices.”

    “I ain’t interferin’,” he replied. “I’m just forcin’ his hand, so he will choose. Because you and I both know it’s gonna come down to that sooner or later. Better sooner than later.”

    “And are you so certain he won’t choose Alley?”

    “He won’t. Even if he wants her, he won’t stay with her. Because I don’t think he really loves her.”

    Charley pursed her lips, expression coy. “Not like _you_ love her, is what you mean.”

    Of course Stoker ignored her accusation in favor of placing coffee mugs and condiments on a tray, leaving her to deal with the tea.

    But he didn’t outright deny it, either.

* * *

    Alley stood in front of her vanity mirror and double-checked her hair, making sure the pile of ringlets perched atop her head was still in its proper place, a few colorful curls escaping to float whimsically about her face.

    _Hairstyle, check._

    She turned to examine herself in the full-length mirror on her closet door, turning back and forth to watch how the frothy, pale blue sundress swirled delicately around her knees. The blue-checked, wedge-heel sandals and silver butterfly pendant nestled between her breasts completed the ensemble nicely.

    _Outfit, check._

    Okay. So maybe she’d gone a _little_ overboard on the clothes, but her wounded pride needed some serious soothing, and nothing made her feel better than getting all gussied up to go hang out with friends. _Screw Throttle,_ she thought determinedly. _Let him see what he’s missing out on! I’ll go out and have fun with Chex and flirt with cute guys to my heart’s content! Stick to my own species from now on. Yep!_

    She nodded to herself, dabbing on the finishing touches of her makeup. She stood back for one last critical look, decided that perfection should not be messed with, and turned on her heel to flounce out of her room and down the stairs with all the proud dignity of a queen.

    They were all in the garage again, and Charley was in the midst of dragging out an ancient grill as Modo and Vinnie piled frozen hotdogs and a few cuts of steak onto the card table.

    “Hi, guys! Bye, guys!” she called, giving a cheerful wave as she breezed past, making a beeline for her bus before anyone could pull her into conversation. Her ego was more than a little gratified when she noted more than one jaw drop at her appearance. And not just from the males. Vinnie release a long, loud wolf-whistle that made her laugh despite herself. She cast a flirtatious glance over her shoulder—very carefully _not_ looking at a stunned Throttle, who couldn’t seem to pick his jaw up off the floor—before opening Priscilla's door and climbing in.

    “I’ve _missed_ my baby. Don’t you ever break on me again!” she scolded, wrapping her arms around the lime green, shag-cloaked steering wheel for a brief moment, before placing the key in the ignition. “Please start, please start, please start,” she chanted, and with a turn of the key, the engine roared to life. “ _Yes!_ ” Her arms shot into the air. Then, remembering she still had an audience, she called out the open window, “Thanks, Cuz! Love you!”

    She received an amused wave in reply and, as she carefully backed the bus out of the garage, she could have sworn she heard Throttle exclaim, “I thought she said she was goin’ out with _Chex_!” 

* * *

    An hour later, she wasn’t feeling quite so boisterous.

    She’d picked a cute little sidewalk cafe to wait, not far from where Chex worked. It was only four o'clock, so she still had time to kill. Unfortunately, that also meant more time to think, and she couldn’t help letting her thoughts shift back to Throttle and the way he had looked while holding Carbine in his arms. Two peas in a pod. A woman who knew him on a way more intimate level than Alley could ever imagine. And now, most likely, would never have the chance to discover.

    She felt tears prick her eyes and, sternly reminding herself that “raccoon” was _not_ a good look for her, blinked them back and pulled her phone out of her purse, deciding to distract herself with some mindless games.

    Unfortunately, an even bigger distraction chose that moment to present itself, as a very large, purple-clad man sat heavily down in the cast-iron chair across from her, white-gloved hands folded under his chins as cold fish eyes regarded her shrewdly from behind the leering mask.

    Alley gaped in shock, trying hard not to breathe; the stench rising from his body was unbearable, forcing several other patrons to hastily abandon their tables and threatening to wilt the small vase of wildflowers sitting on the table between them.

“Good day, my dear,” Limburger oozed with his usual false charm. “You’re looking quite fetching this fine afternoon. Waiting for a date, are we?”

 


	26. Twenty-Six

    Alley glanced down at the phone in her hand, wondering if she could bring up the dial-pad and hit the first speed dial button to call the garage before Limburger noticed.

    Of course he was smarter than that. “If you wouldn’t mind putting that thing away?” he intoned, waving it aside. “I’ve always found it distasteful to play on those little gadgets whilst conversing with an acquaintance. Don’t you agree?”

    She muttered something in the affirmative and reluctantly slipped the phone into her purse. She was on her own, now. _So what else is new?_ “To what do I owe this latest visit?” she inquired, not bothering to even try and sound polite.

    He folded his hands on the table and offered a cold smile. “You need not worry, my dear. I’ve merely come for a status report.”

    She looked at him blankly.

    “An update on our little venture,” he elaborated. “An appraisal. Information. What have you _learned_?” His tone dropped, low and menacing, and she winced.

    “Mr. Limburger, it’s only been four days since—”

    “Indeed,” he interrupted casually. “And in those four days you have been spotted no less than four separate times, gallivanting around our fair city on the back of that wretched rodent’s motorcycle, cozied up to his side whilst promenading through the parks in the lovely, romantic evenings.” He looked positively disgusted at the idea. “Come, come. Surely you must have gleaned some tidbit of information from his besotted brain by _now_.”

    Alley licked her lips and thought frantically. The entire ruse hinged on these next moments, and damned if she was gonna screw it up because she couldn’t think on her feet fast enough! “There _is_ one thing,” she began slowly. “It’s something he told all of us voluntarily, though, so I don’t know how important it is, but it seems to be the reason why he’s on earth.”

    “Oh? _Do_ tell.” Limburger leaned in, and she unconsciously leaned back to get away from the stench of him.

    “It’s a project he’s been working on,” she explained. “He calls it a Regenerator. It’s supposed to … I dunno. _Make_ stuff.”

    “Stuff?” She definitely had his interest now. “What kind of stuff?”

    “Like, resource stuff. He said it could create natural resources. He plans to use it to bring water and plant life back to Mars. It will help save the planet and turn the war.”

    “Oh, my, no.” Scowling, Limburger leaned back again, and the chair groaned alarmingly under him. “No, no, no. This _simply_ will not do.” He tsked, a frown on his rubbery lips. After a moment his sharp gaze snapped back to Alley. “You are certain you heard this correctly?”

    “I saw the blueprints myself,” she said. “They’re all mapped out and seems like he’s ready to start building. He’s been on earth gathering the last few supplies he needs to finish it.” When Limburger rubbed his chin thoughtfully, muttering to himself, she took a gamble to add innocently, “Why not do something like that yourself?”

    “Pardon?” Again, those shark-eyes fixed unblinkingly on her.

    “Th-the Regenerator,” she stuttered. “Can’t you get your people to create one? I mean, your planet is constantly seeking natural resources, right? Wouldn’t it be so much more, uh, cost-efficient to just make your own instead of spending all that money to buy out entire planets? I mean, world domination must be a pretty costly expense, right?”

    “Indeed, indeed.” Limburger folded his hands under his chins again, eyes narrowed with interest. “An intriguing notion. Do go on.”

    She tried her hardest to quell the bubble of hopeful excitement. Was he actually _buying_ it? “Well, uh, I guess since you’re so powerful around here, it’d be easy for you to get something like that designed. And I imagine you’d be pretty much like a hero if you brought it to your planet. Right?”

    “Hmmmm.” A sly grin slowly stretched across his face. “A hero. Yes, indeed, I would be a hero. No, a president. No! A _king_!” He straightened, banging a fist against the table and making her jump in surprise. “Yes, this is perfect. I shall bring Plutark this Regenerator, and they’ll have no choice but to make me their supreme ruler to express their _overwhelming_ gratitude. When they see how I can bring them endless resources and endless riches, they shall be putty in my fins!” He clenched a fist and chuckled somewhat manically before pinning Alley with his gaze once more. “You will bring me this Regenerator as soon as it is built, do you understand?”

    She panicked; this was _not_ part of the plan! What was she supposed to do _now_? “But it—He hasn’t started building it yet,” she sputtered. “A-and there’s no telling how long it’ll take him to finish.”

    “I am a patient man,” he sniffed.

    She clenched her teeth, considering. Then, “It’ll be too heavily guarded. He brought help down from Mars,” she said in a rush.

    His elation faded at this. “What?” His voice was flat.

    “Th-the new general. And a couple of her soldiers. They just arrived today. Stoker has already told them about the Regenerator, a-and I’m pretty sure they plan to bring him and the designs back to Mars with them just as soon as he finishes gathering the last supplies.”

    “Hmmm. A dire development, indeed.” Limburger drummed his fingers against the table as he thought. “Well, then. Time _is_ of the essence. An alternative solution would be for you to simply steal the designs from him and bring them to me,” he decided, looking satisfied. “I shall take them directly to Plutark to ensure there is no interference from those raucous rodents and have it assembled there.”

    Her eyes widened. “Wait, you told me all I needed to do was give you information,” she protested. “How am I supposed to steal them? It’s not like he just leaves them sitting out in the open!”

    “Oh, don’t be bothersome.” He waved her protests aside. “You’re a clever girl, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. I shall give you three days to get these plans within my grasp.”

    “But … that’s too soon! I mean, he’ll get suspicious if I suddenly start pestering him about the designs and—”

    “Then resort to subterfuge, my dear girl! I’m certain it would be no trouble to simply slip him a little something extra in a drink? Knock him out cold, ransack his belongings… I don’t care _how_ you do it, _just do it!_ ” he snarled, banging his fist on the table again and tipping over the wilting flowers.

    “Y-yes, sir,” she squeaked, sinking down in the chair.

    He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Three days. I shall give you until Monday henceforth to deliver the blueprints to me. Come to my office at ten o'clock morn, and our business arrangement shall be settled.”

    “And … and you’ll call the school and get me back in, right? My records will be restored?” she asked meekly.

    “Yes, yes. That was the agreement. Everything shall be settled.” He hefted his considerable bulk from the chair and straightened his tie again, brushing off his jacket. “You’ve done well thus far, Miss Allyson Parker.” He offered another cold smile. “Let us see if you continue to exceed my expectations. Until then.” With a courtly bow he turned and sauntered toward the purple limousine waiting for him by the curve.

    Alley slumped in her chair, heaving a sigh of relief. Only to squeal in shock when a voice behind her said, “Did I just see the Purple People Eater walking away from your table?”

    “Jiminy _Christmas_ , Chex! Don’t _do_ that!” She dramatically clutched at her heart as her friend appeared, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk painted over her cherry-bomb lips. “Aren’t you still supposed to be at work?”

    “It was a slow day. Boss let me off early.” Chex pulled out the abandoned chair, did a double-take when she got a look at its bowed legs. She shook her head and switched it out with another one, eyeballing Alley as she turned the chair backwards and plopped down, resting her arms on its slotted back. “Well, golly, Dreamboat Barbie,” she teased. “I didn’t realize this was a date or I’d ‘ve worn my _nice_ combat boots.”

    Alley gave a short laugh, fingering a curl self-consciously. “Yeah, some stuff happened… I just felt like dressing up a bit, is all.”

    Chex snorted. “Pretty sure Lard Butt isn’t into girls.” She considered. “Or actual _people_ , for that matter.”

    “I didn’t dress up for _him_!” Alley yelped. “Chex! _Ew!_ ”

    She laughed. “So, wanna tell me what he was doing here?”

    Alley groaned and thumped her head on the table. “It’s a long story. I’m not sure I should even get you involved,” she complained. “The less you know, the better.”

    “Well, I’m already involved, so spill. You know I’ll keep bugging you ‘til you do.”

    Alley raised her head. “I know I’m the one who called you out, but do you think maybe we can cancel dinner? I need to get back to the garage and tell them what happened.”

    “Only if I come with you.”

    “I dunno.” She grimaced. “We have company. Not sure how well they’ll take to more humans…”

    “More Martians showed up?” Chex’s face lit up. “Oh, snap! You _gotta_ take me! Pleeease?” She folded her gloved hands under her chin and gave her best puppy-eyed pout.

    “Oh, okay.” Alley laughed at her antics. “Charley was cooking on the grill, but I dunno that we actually have enough food to feed everyone.”

    “So, we’ll do a grocery run and pick more up. My treat!” Chex hopped up and patted down her ruffled skirt. “So, which ride’s yours?”

    “You didn’t drive?”

    “Nah. I just take the shuttle from the campus and walk. Drop-off's only a few blocks from the store.”

    “Well, I can give you a lift home then,” Alley said, getting to her feet. “That’s my bus over there.”

    Upon seeing Priscilla parked a few spaces away, Chex stopped dead in her tracks and gaped. “You mean that thing was _yours_?”

    “Don’t you start,” Alley sniffed, unlocking the doors. “She’s a perfectly good vehicle.”

    “Hey, don’t get me wrong!” Chex held up her hands. “She's pretty sweet. Man, I’d love a party wagon like this!” She examined the pristine interior, ran her hands over the soft eggshell leather seats with a whistle. “She’s spotless. This mean she hasn’t seen a lot of action?” She waggled her brows. “I had a ride like this, I’d be taking _full_ advantage of all that room.”

    Alley rolled her eyes, blushing faintly. “Just get in, you horndog. I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

* * *

    The party was in full-swing by the time Priscilla rumbled back into the garage, the radio cranked up and the food quickly vanishing. Charley was getting a bit worried; Alley hadn’t done the grocery run yet and feeding seven hungry Martians was proving quite the challenge. None of the new arrivals had ever had real barbeque before, and they were enjoying it quite a lot. Except for Gunner; she refused to touch the meat. _Huh. A Martian vegetarian. Who knew?_

    She watched with a frown as Alley parked the bus; it was way too soon for her to be back. Then her eyebrows rose as the passenger door opened and a familiar shock of cherry-red hair appeared. She shot an exasperated glance at her cousin as she disembarked from the driver’s side. _What the hell is that girl thinking?_

    The party screeched to a halt at Chex’s appearance, and she froze when half a dozen eyes were suddenly fixed on her, not all of them particularly friendly. “Uh … hi there!” She offered a bright smile and hefted two bulging shopping bags filled with frozen meat. “I come bearing food?”

    “Sweetheart! You’re speakin’ my language!” Vinnie crowed, bouncing over to check out the goodies. “Whatcha bring us?”

    “Little of everything. Wasn’t sure what you'd like. Hotdogs, polish sausage, steak, hamburgers, some chicken breasts…” She shrugged and handed off the bags.

    Alley appeared beside her, holding two more. “There are more condiments and snacky foods, too,” she added.

    “I don’t eat meat.” Gunner said quietly.

    “Then it’s a good thing we brought some veggie and fruit trays.”

    “Don’t forget the tofu burgers!” Chex pulled a box of frozen patties from one of the bags, laughing at Vinnie’s moans of disgust.

    “What's … tofu?” Rimfire asked.

    “It's—” Chex stopped to think, then shrugged. “I don't actually know. But it ain't meat.” She laughed at his expression.

    “It's made with soy,” Alley supplied, rolling her eyes. “It's healthy. Lots of protein. And tofu burgers aren't that bad. They pick up flavor very well, so they're good when grilled.”

    “What she said.” Chex tossed the box to Stoker, who was manning the grill.

    Alley placed the fruit and vegetables on the card table. When Gunner wandered over to look, she explained, “These are baby carrots, sliced celery, some cauliflower and broccoli. Sweet peppers there. Oh, and those are cherry tomatoes. There’s garden dip, too, if you like a little flavoring.”

    The mouse picked up a pepper, sniffing it curiously before taking a delicate bite. Her face lit up, and she sampled a carrot, next. “Tuck in,” Alley told her with an encouraging smile. “Oh, and try the fruit, too. If you like sweets, you’ll love the pineapple and melon.” Gunner nodded, loading a plate with vegetables. She didn’t seem like one inclined toward friendly conversation, so Alley left her to it and continued unloading grocery bags.

    Charley wandered over, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Ya done good, kid,” she teased. “We’ve got enough food to feed an army for a month.”

    “Or a gaggle of Martians,” Alley returned with a grin.

    “How did you pay for all this, though?” The mechanic frowned. “There must be a hundred dollars worth of meat there! You didn’t dip into your savings for this, did you?”

    “No, this was all on Chex.”

    “ _What?_ "

    “Hey, she insisted! And it’s not like she couldn’t afford it. Her family’s loaded!”

    “I know, but _still_.” Charley didn’t look happy.

    “Look, if these guys are gonna be staying awhile, we’re gonna need the food,” Alley pointed out. “I’ve come to realize that Martians eat a lot, and now there are twice as many of them! I can make plenty of meals from the leftovers to feed everyone.”

    “I guess you have a point.” Charley sighed. “Just don’t let her spend that kind of money on us again, huh?”

    “You don’t _let_ Chex do _anything_ ,” Alley deadpanned.

    Charley laughed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, kid, but what made you decide to come back so early?” she asked.

    “Oh. Uh…” Alley fidgeted. “There’s actually something I gotta tell you—”

    “Hey!” Vinnie yelped, his head appearing around the side of Alley’s van. “I think some of the meat in here’s gone bad, sweetheart. Phew!” His nose wrinkled with distaste as he waved a hand in front of it.

    "Aw, it's probably just the lingering odor of Limburger," Chex called cheerfully. “That stench does tend to follow you around, huh? Don't worry, the food was all sealed so it didn't get tainted.”

    There was instant silence, but for the blaring of rock music and the hiss of dripping fat on hot coals. Everyone turned to stare. "What?" She batted her lashes, all innocence. "I saw him at the cafe with Alley. Don’t you think it was nice of him to keep her company until I got there?"

    Alley gritted her teeth and calmly punched her in the arm, which only made her laugh.

    "And you didn't think to mention this sooner?" Charley asked, voice droll.

    "I was _getting_ to it." Alley shot her friend an annoyed glance. Which was, of course, ignored.

    Charley sighed. “Okay, let’s talk in the kitchen. Stoke, you coming?”

    “Someone takin' over the cooking?”

    “On it!” Chex bounced over and grinned up at him.

    He eyed her warily. “Try not to burn anything down, huh?”

    “I shall do my very best.” She saluted him with the spatula and he raised his eyes heavenward with a shake of his head, before turning to follow Alley and Charley up to the kitchen.

    “So what happened?” he asked, seating himself at the table. Charley took a second chair as Alley slid into the third.

    And then the room was suddenly crowded as six more mice filed in.

    Alley scowled. “Does _everyone_ have to be up here for this?” she complained.

    “This involves us as much as you.” Carbine fixed her with a frosty stare. “We have the right to know.”

    “Really? Then why don’t you risk _your_ life and go traipsing into Limburger’s tower, instead?” Alley snapped. At the general’s surprised expression, she took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m just … a little on edge. These surprise rendezvous with alien fish tend to wear on my nerves a bit.” She offered a tight smile.

    “It’s okay, honey. Just tell us what happened,” Stoker said soothingly.

    “Well, for starters, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

    The mice exchanged glances. “What’s the good news?” Vinnie asked.

    “I was able to tell Limburger about the Regenerator and convince him that he had to have those blueprints for Plutark. It was like you said, Charley. He was all over the idea of becoming the supreme ruler or whatever.”

    “Told ya.” The mechanic crossed her arms smugly.

    “Hmmm. And the bad news?” Stoker asked.

    “We are now on a strict deadline. He gave me until ten o'clock Monday morning to get the designs to him. So whatever you’re planning to do to those things, you better do it fast.” She thought for a minute. “Oh, yeah. And I dunno how big a secret it was, but I sort’ve had to let it slip that she was here.” She jerked a thumb toward Carbine.

    There were angry exclamations all around, mostly from Carbine and Gunner.

    “Look, I couldn’t help it!” Alley held up her hands in protest. “Limburger was telling me to steal the actual _Regenerator_! He wouldn’t listen to sense, so I had to tell him _something_. When I mentioned there might be a chance of Stoker being taken straight back to Mars with the plans, that’s when he told me to go after them, instead.”

    Stoker nodded. “Quick thinking on your part,” he approved. “It was probably only a matter of time before one of his spies figured out they were here, anyway, so no harm done.” He turned to Carbine. “You'll have to cut your visit short, though. They won't pass up a chance like this, knowing the Freedom Fighters' general is no longer on the planet.”

    Carbine grumbled, casting a glance toward Throttle, who was also frowning. Neither protested, though.

    “Did he mention what he intended to do once he got his hands on the designs?” Charley asked.

    “Mmmm … It sounded like he was gonna take them straight to Plutark, to make sure nobody could crash in on him and try to steal ‘em back,” Alley replied.

    “That’s it, then.” Modo’s grin was huge. “It’s all fallin’ into place, just like we hoped.”

    “This is really gonna work, ain’t it?” Vinnie breathed, eyes wide and hopeful.

    “That’s _if_ she can pull off her part of the mission and get in and out without giving anything away.” Carbine didn’t sound so sure about that, and Alley glared at her.

    “Are you always this pessimistic?” she asked. “I know what I gotta do. I’ve been managing just fine so far. No way will I screw anything up now.”

    “But you’re not versed in military tactics,” Carbine protested. “You're just a civilian—”

    “Who happens to be very fond of her life. I’d like to _keep_ it, thanks very much, and doing that requires me to not do something stupid to screw myself when I walk into that building next week!”

    “Ladies, let’s not fight,” Throttle intervened, sounding uneasy. “Let’s all just—”

    “ _You_ stay out of this,” Alley snapped, earning a slightly hurt look from the golden mouse. He sighed heavily and looked away, expression grim. She reigned in her temper and stood. “Anyway, I’ve got a guest waiting and I’m hungry. We can discuss it later.” She turned to stalk out of the kitchen.

    She could feel Throttle's worried gaze lingering on her back; for just a moment, she was tempted to turn and _look_ at him, to let go of her tightly-held emotion and show him just how hurt she was.

    The moment passed.

    Firming her resolve, she straightened her shoulders and left the apartment with head held high and dignity still intact.


	27. Twenty-Seven

   Chex looked up from the grill as Alley came stomping noisily down the stairs, raising an eyebrow. "What's up, Godzilla Barbie? Bad news on the front?"

   "Huh?" Alley blinked at her, snapping out of her funk. "Oh. No, not that. Things actually seem to be going pretty well on that end. Well, aside from the fact I could end up being murdered three days from now."

   "Ah, you'll be fine. Those guys won't let anything happen to you." Chex waved off her concerns, sliding a finished steak onto a platter of grilled meat. "So, if that isn't the problem, what is?"

   Alley wrinkled her nose. "I don't really wanna talk about it right now. I'm too … too … _arrrgh_!" She crooked her hands and mimicked strangling a certain someone.

   "Ah. Yes. Those annoying ' _arrrgh'_ moments. I know them well." Chex nodded sagely and expertly flipped the hamburger she was grilling. Which promptly missed the spatula on the way down, slipped through the slotted grate over the coals, and landed in them with a sizzle of burning fat.

   Alley clapped enthusiastically. "Encore!"

   "Piff. A small price to pay to the barbeque gods," Chex sniffed, flipping her hair.

   "Uh-huh." Alley checked the grill. "Along with … two hotdogs, a sausage, and a chicken breast. Wow, you must've pissed 'em off or something."

   "Aw, shut up." Chex grinned. "So, my grilling skills are a little rusty. Hey, everything I _didn't_ drop is cooked to perfection, thanks very much."

   Alley laughed and took the platter of meat to the card table, shuffling food around to make room. She stepped back to eyeball the groaning table critically. "I think _maybe_ we went a little overboard on the shopping. Even with those walking stomachs, there's no way this is all gonna get eaten."

   "Leftovers!" Chex announced cheerfully.

   "Sure. I'll pack it all into the industrial freezer in my closet."

   "Just foist the undesirables off onto your pals. It's barbeque tradition!"

   Alley smirked. "I suppose we could always just offer a few more innocent hamburgers to the sacrificial fire pit."

   "Ah hah! Hah! It is to laugh."

   Voices and heavy feet sounded from the stairs as everyone finally rejoined the party. Stoker made a beeline for the grill, and Chex offered up the spatula with an innocent smile. He noted the smoldering meat in the embers, raised an eyebrow. "Least it wasn't the garage."

   "Everyone's a comedian." Chex rolled her eyes and stalked off, ignoring Alley's giggles.

* * *

   "So, you're called Rimfire, huh?"

   The young mouse looked up in surprise from the plate of food he'd been busily shoveling into his mouth, cheeks bulging. When he saw Chex standing there, grinning at him, he hastily tried to swallow, ended up nearly choking before he got it down, helped along by a hearty clout on the back by his uncle. "Um … yeah. That's me," he stammered.

   "I'm Chex. You a Freedom Fighter, too?" she asked, tilting her head to one side, eyes wide and hands clasped behind her back; the very picture of the coquettish flirt.

   Charley, watching from the sidelines, nudged her cousin playfully in the side. "Hey, she's rippin' your moves. You gonna let her get away with that?"

   "You shut up."

   Ignoring them, Chex continued to smile up into Rimfire's embarrassed face. "So, Charley says you have a twin?"

   "Uh, yeah. A sister. Her name's Primer."

   "What a koinkydink! I happen to have a twin brother! His name is Chris. He's off at his little band practice or something tonight. How come Primer isn't here?"

   "Well, she's not a Freedom Fighter. Civilians aren't allowed to come on official missions."

   Chex nodded. "Well, next time you visit earth you should totally sneak her along. I'd take you all sightseeing and stuff. You ever been to Lake Michigan? My family owns a private beach. It's got a great swimming area."

   Modo frowned at her. "Ferget it, Chex. Yer too old for 'im," he snorted.

   She frowned back. "I'm eighteen!"

   He shrugged. "Too young, then."

   She huffed and moved to rejoin the other two women, who had seated themselves in the opened interior of Alley's bus. "You might as well give up on that one," Charley teased, shifting over to make room in the side entrance. "He's Modo's nephew. You won't get near him with a fifty foot pole."

   Chex thought for a moment, then shrugged and grinned. "That's okay," she replied easily. Raising her voice, she added, "I'm way more interested in the uncle, anyhow."

   A single eye widened and the hotdog on Modo's plate landed with a splat on the floor beside his foot. Chex grinned, looking pleased with herself as the big mouse made a hasty retreat to the grill to get himself another hotdog.

   Alley laughed and nudged Chex in the side. "Stop teasing the poor guy," she scolded. "He's too sweet to handle your brand of flirting."

   "Who says I'm teasing?" Chex protested. "I'm totally serious."

   "I somehow get the feeling you aren't his type," Charley deadpanned.

   She pouted. "So, what is his type?"

   The cousins looked at each other, and Alley shrugged. "Beats me. Modo doesn't talk much about himself."

   Charley nodded. "But, given how often he talks about his mama," she added thoughtfully, "my guess would be a lady very much like her. You know, one of those old-fashioned, cookie-baking, housewife types."

   "Like a fuzzy June Cleaver?" Alley quipped.

   "Exactly!"

   "Oh." Chex slumped, disappointed. "Well, given my lack of fur and a tail, guess that leaves me out. And I can't bake for crap." She sighed.

   "Well, you know, it's just speculation," Alley tried to reassure her. "I mean, maybe he's not interested in females at all? Look at how he treats Gunner! He isn't drooling all over her the way Rimfire and Vinnie have been." She jumped when Chex elbowed her sharply in the side; glanced at her cousin's shuttered face. "Oh. I … I mean—That isn't—" she sputtered.

   "Way to stick your foot in," Chex sniggered.

   "Never mind." Charley waved her aside. "Vinnie's a natural-born flirt. I'm sure he doesn't mean it. Old habits die hard."

   "Doesn't mean you have to be _fine_ with it," Alley mumbled, glaring a hole into Vinnie's skull as she watched him posture for Gunner.

   "Oh, I didn't say I was fine with it." The mechanic's smile was tight and grim. "Seems like all of our guys are behaving like big idiots today." She nodded toward Throttle and Carbine, who were standing off by themselves, engaged in intense discussion.

   "What? What'd I miss?" Chex wanted to know, glancing back and forth between the cousins and the mice. "Wait, who is that? Is she—?"

   "Throttle's girlfriend," Alley muttered.

   "Oh." Chex's eyes widened. " _Oooohhhh._ I'm guessing she would be the ' _arrrgh'_ you didn't wanna talk about."

   Alley didn't reply, instead focusing on her plate of food and listening to the murmur of conversation going on around her. No matter how she tried, though, she couldn't seem to keep her gaze from drifting to Carbine and Throttle, still off in their own little world. Her brow furrowed as she watched them thoughtfully. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her end, but they sure didn't _look_ like a pair of happily reunited lovers murmuring sweet nothings to each other. Given their serious expressions, it looked more like they were in the middle of an intense and not particularly happy debate. Her eyes widened with mild alarm. Had Carbine figured out what had happened between her and Throttle and was confronting him about it? She hadn't exactly been _subtle_ with hiding her dislike for the uppity general, and having just met her, she didn't even have a good excuse for it.

   Sudden commotion drew her attention from the pair. Vinnie had finally torn himself from Gunner's side and was now in the midst of animated conversation with Modo and Rimfire, relating some story that had the younger mouse nearly doubled over with laughter. Gunner had moved to the grill and stood with Stoker, speaking quietly. Alley frowned, noting how closely the pretty mouse stood to him, head tilted as she rested her hand delicately on his arm. He smiled down at her, said something that made her duck her head shyly, and the end of her tail coiled loosely around his booted ankle.

   Alley blinked, then blinked again as it dawned on her that they were _flirting_. What's more, it wasn't one-sided; Stoker seemed quite at home, chatting up the pretty little mouse. She frowned, glanced at the half-finished plate in her lap—She suddenly wasn't very hungry anymore—and stood to dump it into the garbage. It was only seven o'clock, but she was more than ready to wrap the day up. Luckily, Charley seemed to be on the same page as she moved to the card table and announced, "I'm starting to clean up. Last chance to grab munchies before they go away."

   There was a mad dash for the table by most of the males, swiftly emptying bowls of snack food. Alley went to the grill to investigate how much meat remained. She felt Stoker's eyes on her and studiously refused to meet his gaze as she counted two cuts of raw steak and unopened packages of hamburgers and chicken breasts. She wiped down the meat platter and loaded it with food to be put away, carrying it all up to the kitchen.

   She took her time, puttering around to delay going back down for as long as possible. If Chex hadn't been there, she'd just retreat into her room for the rest of the night and be done with it, but she couldn't abandon her friend like that. Especially since she'd promised to take her home.

   "Still some tofu burgers left, too."

   Stoker's voice made her jump in surprise. She glanced up from the fridge to find him hovering over her, the pack of burgers in his hand. "Put them in the freezer," she instructed, shoving aside the jug of milk to slide the steak and chicken in. She handed up the hamburgers. "Stick these in while you're at it. I'll use the rest tomorrow. Think they'll like fajitas?"

   "Dunno. Never tried 'em," he replied, closing the freezer door and stepping back to watch her. "But if you're the one cookin', I'm sure they'll be delicious."

   She ignored the compliment and stood, smoothing down her skirt. She frowned upon noticing a mustard stain on the lacy material. Wetting a dishcloth in the sink, she added little hand soap and set to work, trying to blot the stain out before it could set. Feeling Stoker's eyes on her again, she shot him an irritated glance. "What?"

   He shook his head with a curious smile. "Nothin'," he replied, voice soft. "Just thinkin' you look real pretty with your hair all curled up like that." He reached to tuck a stray ringlet behind her ear, allowing his fingers to trace along her jaw, lingering. Her skin tingled where he touched and she pulled away and focused harder on her task, determined to ignore his flirting.

   His smile faded, turning serious. "You wanna talk it over?"

   "Talk what over?" Giving up, Alley tossed the dishcloth into the sink and leaned back, crossing her arms.

   "How about why you're just about ready to blow your top." He traced her temple, watching her carefully. "I can feel all that suppressed rage, dancin' around in there. You keep holdin' it in like that, you're gonna pop."

   She shrugged. "If you don't like what you're feeling, stop poking around in my brain."

   "I don't gotta. You're broadcastin' loud and clear." He frowned at her.

   "Oh, sorry. Guess someone forgot to install my off switch."

   "You can joke about it all you like." His expression was stern. "But you're facin' off with Limburger in three days, and I'd rather you didn't go marchin' into that tower on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You need to keep all your wits about you to get through this alive."

   She sighed heavily. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

   "You might consider confronting the source of your distress, for one thing."

   She flashed a tight, pained smile. "I'll be doing that in three days."

   He responded with a droll look. "How about your _other_ source of distress?"

   The smile vanished. "I'd rather eat nails."

   He sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders, rubbing back and forth soothingly. She shrugged him off. "You better head back down before Gunner wonders where you got off to. Could get awkward if she comes looking," she muttered.

   He gave her a surprised look. "What's she got to do with anything?"

   She offered a careless shrug. "Nothing. Just, you know, you two looked so _friendly_ when you were talking earlier. Wouldn't want to cause more misunderstandings or anything."

   Both eyebrows rose to his hairline. "So, you saw us talkin' and now you're jealous?" He looked far too pleased with himself. It pissed her off.

   "Wipe that stupid smirk off your face!" she snapped. "You think it's funny, flirting around with me all these weeks and then turning around and hitting up the first pretty girl that comes along?"

   Stoker tried to speak, but she plowed right on.

   "No, I get it! I do! She's a mouse. _Obviously_ she's got the advantage with the fur and the tail and all. Of course your own species would be more attractive. That's normal, right?" Her hands clenched into fists. "I'm just … I'm getting a _little_ fed up with being played by fickle aliens who can't make up their damned minds what it is they _want._ "

   "Whoa, there, honey. Take a breath." Startled by her outburst, Stoker stepped back with wide eyes and hands up.

   She closed her eyes to hide their burning and turned her back on him, gripping the edge of the sink. Took a few deep, calming breaths. "Just … leave me alone," she told him flatly. And jumped when a warm, calloused hand came to rest on her back, stroking gently back and forth in a calming gesture.

   "I get the feelin' it ain't me'n Gunner you're talkin' about, anymore." His voice was low and soft in her ear.

   She swallowed, blinking rapidly to clear her blurring vision. "I told him we should just stay friends, because I didn't want him to avoid me anymore and I figured he'd be relieved. But he—All that sweet-talk about how maybe friends wasn't good enough. And then the way he _kissed_ me… I should have known if it came down to choice, it wouldn't be me." She shook her head, swiping at her tearing eyes. "He and Carbine have been together for years, so it's normal he'd go right back to her. I was a … a temporary distraction. Just like Charley tried to warn me. I knew it, and I fell for it anyway. When did I turn into such an _idiot_?"

   Stoker pondered for a second before offering a wry grin. "How about I hold 'im down and you punch," he offered.

   Alley huffed a short laugh.

   He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Or maybe Carbine's the one you feel like punchin'."

   "Yes!" She shook her head. "No. I don't know! I don't have any reason to be mad at _her_."

   "But you are anyway."

   "Yes!" She slumped. "I just want her to go _away_ ," she confessed. "I know it's not fair of me to feel like this. _She_ didn't do anything wrong. And I feel horrible and guilty and angry, and I just—" She blew out a frustrated breath, running her hands over her face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to _do_. Ignore my feelings and hope they go away?"

   He turned her to face him, dark eyes searching her face before he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. She closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar, musky-sweet scent of hay and sunshine and Stoker, all the while thinking that she _really_ ought to pull away. She was doing exactly what she'd told herself she _wouldn't_ do. She'd already humiliated herself enough, getting so caught up in Throttle's pace. And she couldn't get the sight of Stoker and Gunner out of her head. Professional players, the both of 'em. If she was smart, she'd turn around and run before she dug herself in any deeper.

   But the large, gentle hand at the back of her neck, massaging away the knotted muscles, felt so good. And he was warm and solid and comfortable, his demeanor calm and steady, soothing her jangled nerves. She rested her forehead on his chest and let the tension slowly drain from her body. His breath ghosted warm across her shoulder as he whispered, "Better?" And when she nodded, he pressed a kiss there, nuzzled under her ear to press a second at her throat. She shivered, breath catching as the soft, caressing mouth traced her skin.

   "Hey, Alley!" Like magic, Chex was suddenly in the doorway. "They're settin' up for a poker game down there aaaaannnnd I can see you're busy, sooo…" She gawped at the entwined couple as Stoker calmly lifted his head and turned a narrowed gaze her way, lifting a single eyebrow. Alley refused to look up, keeping her burning face pressed to his shirt.

   "Right. So. I'm just gonna, um, go back down and … yeah." With a huge grin, Chex turned on her heel and bounced away.

   Alley sighed heavily and stepped back, withdrawing from his arms. "I suppose gagging her would only make things look _more_ suspicious."

   His eyes crinkled, shoulders shaking as he chuckled. "Unfortunately."

   She pressed her hands to her hot face and shook her head, stepping away. "I shouldn't have let you do that," she mumbled.

   "Seems like you needed it." He watched her carefully.

   "Still a dumb idea." She couldn't meet his gaze. "I don't want to use you. It wouldn't be right."

   He hummed. "You ain't usin' me. I'm volunteerin' my services." He reached out to trail a hand over her cheek, tucking back a few more curls. "You need a shoulder to cry on, an' I've got two of 'em. You're welcome to borrow one whenever you like. No charge."

   Her face warmed further. "Why are you being so sweet after the way I yelled at you?" she mumbled guiltily.

   He hesitated for a long second before offering a grin and a playful wink. "Chalk it up to the fact that I've grown kinda fond of you, honey. And I never could ignore a lady in distress. It just wouldn't be gentleman-like."

   She studied his face, noting a sort of odd melancholy lingering in his dark eyes, like ghosts of memories, that his flippancy failed to disguise. A pang of guilt struck her. "I still shouldn't have taken my anger out on you."

   "Never happened." He shrugged. "Anyway, how about we go rejoin the others before that girl sets the tongues to waggin'? A good, competitive card game'll help take your mind off things."

   Alley reached out to grasp his hand in both of hers. "Stoker, I think maybe I've been misjudging you all this time, and I'm sorry," she said quietly. "If anything I said hurt you, I'm honestly sorry for that, too. I know I haven't done much to deserve it, but thank you for your kindness and consideration of me. You are a gentleman."

   He gaped at her, and for once his usual playful banter seemed to have deserted him. She acknowledged his surprise with a tired smile and a gentle squeeze to his hand before letting it go and leaving to rejoin the others in the garage.


	28. Twenty-Eight

   It had been both the longest and shortest weekend of Alley's life. Before she knew it, Sunday night had rolled around, and she once again found herself up on the roof. She'd sprawled out on her unzipped sleeping bag, using her beanbag chair as a pillow. It was past ten o'clock and everything was quiet except for the never-ending rumble of distant traffic. The Last Chance was closed up, and most of the mice had already gone back to the scoreboard for the night, where there was more room for everyone to sleep. Only Stoker remained, working out the last details on the altered blueprints, and Charley was still down in the garage, tinkering around with her late-night projects.

   Alley was exhausted, but no matter how she tried, she just couldn't get to sleep. It certainly didn't help that every time she did manage to nod off, she'd only jerk awake again minutes later, panting with lingering fright from some nightmare or other. She couldn't remember the dreams once she woke up, but she was pretty sure they had to do with her upcoming visit to Limburger in just a few short hours.

   She'd finally given up and dragged herself up to the roof, hoping the fresh air would clear the fog from her head a bit and ease the growing tightness in her chest. It was a nice night; somewhere along the way, late August's oppressive heat had given way to cooler temperatures and less humidity. There was a nice breeze blowing through the husks of buildings surrounding the garage, and without the heavy socks and the sweater she'd thrown on over her pajamas, she might've been cold. She leaned back in the large beanbag, pulled the blanket she'd brought with her over her body, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply to try and get herself to relax.

   That was when she realized she was being watched.

   She shot up, sucking in a sharp breath as a tall, shadowed figure moved silently toward her. Fumbling for the utility flashlight she'd brought along, she flicked it on and aimed its beam directly into her assailant's face, hoping to blind and disorient him.

   It worked; Throttle let out a startled yelp when the brilliant light hit him square in his unprotected eyes; he cringed away, using his arm to block his face.

   "Damn it, Throttle, you scared the crap outta me!" Alley snapped, immediately swinging the light away. "Don't sneak up like that!"

   "Sorry," he mumbled, sounding sheepish. "Didn't mean to scare you."

   "What're you doing here? I thought you left with the others." Annoyed, she adjusted the flashlight, pulling the tube open to reveal the LED lantern hidden inside, brightening the entire area.

   "I did, but then I came back. I wanted to talk to you. I've been tryin' all weekend to get you alone, but…" He trailed off with an uncomfortable shrug, shoving his thumbs into his pockets.

   She leaned back again, scowling. She was well aware that he'd been trying to talk to her, and she'd spent most of the weekend making sure he didn't get the chance. She knew exactly what he was going to say, and even though avoiding this particular conversation wasn't going to change its outcome, she didn't feel up to holding it just yet. Not until the whole mess with Limburger was over. Maybe not even then.

   "What do you think needs to be said that I haven't already figured out?" she asked, voice flat. "Actions speak louder than words, you know. Yours were pretty damned obvious, the way you _threw_ yourself at her when she showed up."

   He cleared his throat. "Well, she _was_ my girlfriend."

   "Which would be a _far_ more convincing argument if you hadn't been _kissing me senseless_ five minutes earlier," she snapped, leveling her glower at him.

   He bowed his head, ears drooping. "I came up here because I owe you an apology about … well, about everything," he said quietly. "What I did, how I treated you … it wasn't right. You didn't deserve it. I knew the moment I took her in my arms that I'd made a mistake. It's just, seein' her there knocked the senses clean outta me. I lost my head for a second—"

   "A _second_?" Alley released a sharp bark of laughter. "I'd say it was way more than a second, pal!"

   "Okay, okay." He held up his hands in surrender, grimacing. "Yeah, you're right. It was more'n a second. Point is, it was a shitty thing to do to you, an' I'm sorry for doin' it."

   Alley bit her lip, refusing to meet his gaze, determined not to forgive him so easily. "That all you have to say?"

   "No." He shifted, looking even more uncomfortable. "Also wanted to let you know me 'n Carbine … we broke it off."

   She gaped at him. "Wh-what?" This was the _last_ thing she'd expected to hear.

   He made himself comfortable on the roof, sitting cross-legged beside her. "We had a long talk, me 'n her. She could sense somethin' was off with me, 'an I guess that was my fault, too. Even though we were finally together after so long, my head just wasn't in it like it should've been." He sighed heavily. "She wanted to know what was wrong. I couldn't lie to her. I could never lie to her. So I … told her everything."

   Alley's stomach lurched at the confession. "Fantastic. Do I now need to worry about your pissed-off ex trying to shoot me in the back?" she muttered.

   "Of course not." He shot her a reproachful look, then blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Our relationship ain't been … right … for a long time now. I think we both knew it, deep down. Just, neither of us wanted to face it. We've been tryin' so hard to keep things how they used to be. But after so many years, everything we've seen and experienced… Well, we've both changed. We ain't the same kids we were back then, an' tryin' to pretend otherwise…" He sighed again, meeting her gaze. "Meetin' you, feelin' like I do… I couldn't keep pretendin' anymore that everything was okay. 'Cause it wasn't. And it was high time we both admitted it."

   Alley had no idea what to say, so she pressed her lips together and remained silent. She ought to tell him she was sorry; it seemed like the only decent response. But she couldn't quell the tiny bubble of hope that steadily rose in her heart. With Carbine officially out of the picture, did this mean…?

   His serious gaze slid her way, and the bubble froze in her chest. "I just wanted to let you know," he continued softly, "that I didn't come up here with any expectations. You 'n me, us bein' together… I realize now you were right. We should just be friends. I _know_ there's … somethin' between the two of us. I dunno if it's just physical attraction or whether it goes deeper'n that—"

   "I already _told_ you how _I_ feel," she cut in, angry and hurt.

   "I know. An' it ain't _your_ feelings I'm doubtin'," he replied quietly. "It's my own that're all mixed up. Us keepin' on like this just—I still love Carbine. She was my first. I kind've always thought she'd be my only, but…" He met her gaze again. "I don't wanna keep hurtin' either of you any more'n I already have. Until I can get my own head sorted out, I think it's best just to cut both of you loose."

   The bubble had solidified into a hard, painful knot and lodged itself in the back of her throat, effectively blocking her response. She forced herself to swallow around it several times, before she finally regained her voice. "I hope," she began hoarsely, "you're not expecting me to just sit around waiting for you to make up your mind."

   He chuckled softly. "Yeah, that's what Carbine said, too. And no, I ain't expectin' anything like that. If either of you finds someone else, someone real special, I promise I'll be happy for you."

   Alley pressed her lips together and nodded. What else could she do? As much as it felt like her heart was breaking, he was probably right. Would she really be happy with him if they continued this … _whatever_ it was? Or would she always be wondering if his heart was really in it? If it was her he was thinking of when they were together, or if he was regretting leaving the first woman he'd ever loved? She'd read about this sort of situation in more than one romance novel, and the rebound girl was never the one who ended up with the hero in the end.

   That knowledge didn't make her heart hurt any less. But damned if she'd break down and cry in front of him. So she swallowed back the tears and instead asked, "H-how long have you and Carbine been together?"

   He gazed up at the sky, seemed to think for a moment. "We met when I was maybe sixteen or seventeen. It wasn't too long after the war broke out."

   "That long?" She blinked, surprised and a bit confused. "Wait. How old _are_ you? Charley gave me the impression you're not that much older than her."

   "I'm not. I'm twenty-nine." He slid her another glance and a weak grin. " _Martian_ years."

   She blinked again. "Martian…?"

   "Yup." As eager to change the subject as she was, he turned to face her, smile widening. "A Martian year is roughly twice the length of an Earthen year, ya know? Days are shorter up there, though."

   Her eyes widened. "So … when you talk about being twenty-nine Martian years…"

   He scratched his chin. "In Earthen years, I guess you could say I'm closer to pushin' sixty. Give or take."

   Her jaw dropped. He chuckled, reached over to push a finger under her chin and close her mouth. "You never realized it before?"

   "I … I guess I never thought about it before," she murmured. "You sure don't _look_ like you're pushing sixty."

   "I ain't. I'm physically twenty-nine. Modo is thirty. Vinnie is twenty-seven, like Charley-girl. A mouse's metabolism is stronger than a human's, and our bodies age differently. A Martian year is slower than an Earthen year, and a mouse's lifespan is longer."

   " _How_ long?"

   He shrugged. "Most mice have an average lifespan of seventy to eighty Martian years. Assuming we ain't killed in the war or die of illness or some other cause." He nudged her playfully. "Not so different from humans, right?"

   "Oh, sure," she snorted. "Living to a hundred and forty is _perfectly_ normal." She blew out a breath, considering. "So, I guess this means Stoker must be … _ancient_."

   Throttle muffled a bark of laughter. "Don't let 'im hear you say that. It'll hurt his feelings," he teased. "He ain't so old, really. Just, he spent time in a Plutarkian prison camp, an' those camps ain't exactly five-star resorts. Those years took a lot out of 'im. Really wore 'im down before his time. But he's only pushin' fifty or so."

   "I didn't know that." Alley leaned back against the beanbag, gazing up at the sky. "He was a prisoner of war?" The thought disturbed her.

   "Yep. 'Til Rimfire managed to bust 'im out. That kid's got chops. And a reckless streak nearly as wide as Vinnie's. He's a pretty good Freedom Fighter. His piloting skills could still use some work, but he's learnin' the ropes. He's learnin' 'em a lot faster now that Modo's eased up on the overprotective streak a bit."

   "Hmmm." Just not when it came to girls, apparently. Alley smirked to herself at the thought..

   Silence fell between them. Throttle shifted after a few more moments of contemplation. "So, uh. You 'n me. Are we—I mean, do you—" He fidgeted awkwardly, ran a hand through his hair again. "Is everything … gonna be okay?" he finally got out. "Are we—Did I screw things up too much? Can you forgive me for bein' such a … a…"

   "A royal dick?" she finished dryly.

   He huffed a short laugh. "Yeah. That."

   She looked away, shrugged. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "I don't appreciate the way you played me. If you'd just listened to me in the first place, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. Maybe you'd even still be with Carbine."

   "Nope. Pretty sure that issue would've turned out the same." He lowered his head, ashamed. "But I know I screwed up big time, in regards to you. I don't deserve forgiveness, but I hope you'll give it to me, anyway."

   "Maybe. I dunno. I just… I want you to leave me alone for awhile. You're not the only one with their head on backwards right now. Just give me some space and … maybe. Okay?"

   He hesitated, nodded his reluctant acceptance and slowly got to his feet, leaving the roof as silently as he'd come.

   As soon as she was sure he'd gone, Alley leaned back and pulled the blanket up to her chin, trying to quell the tight ache in her chest as she irritably swiped at the persistent tears escaping the corners of her eyes. A quiet step alerted her to yet another visitor. Blinking to clear her clouded vision, she was only mildly surprised to find Stoker leaning over her, eyes glimmering in the light.

   "Couldn't sleep," she mumbled by way of explanation. "I thought fresh air might help. Just like camping." She offered a weak smile and sent her firmest 'go away' vibes at him, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

   Rather, he took a seat and, scooching her over to make more room, made himself comfortable on the sleeping bag. She frowned, ready to argue the blatant invasion of her privacy. But all protest died when his arm slipped under her back, pulled her against him. His fingers threaded gently into her hair as he curled protectively around her, resting his chin against the top of her head. "Get it out," he murmured as his hand massaged the tight muscles in the back of her neck.

   To her horror, those simple words were the hammer against the fragile wall of her emotions. She sniffled once, then again. And then she pressed her face against his chest with a deep, shuddering sigh as the dam broke entirely, and silent tears flowed from her eyes. He held her close and stroked her hair, doing nothing but _be_ there as she did just as he said and let it all out.

* * *

   She woke up in her own bedroom. Sunlight was streaming in through her window, and she blearily glanced at her clock, only to bolt from her twisted sheets in a sudden panic when she realized it was almost eight-thirty. Muttering words that surely would've earned her a long lecture from her mother, Alley darted around her room, collecting articles of clothing before bolting into the thankfully-empty bathroom. Why was it so late? She was _sure_ she'd set her alarm for seven o'clock! She'd wanted to give herself plenty of time to prepare for the coming day, both physically and mentally. She _hated_ starting out all rushed and frazzled; it tended to throw the whole day out of whack and she really couldn't afford to go into this without all of her mental faculties intact.

   For that matter, how had she gotten back to bed in the first place? She paused, hand extended toward the faucet, frowning as she thought. The last thing she remembered was being up on the roof, blubbering all over poor Stoker's chest. She grimaced at the recollection. Of _all_ people to have a breakdown on. Sure, he'd offered his shoulder to cry on, but she'd never intended to actually take him _up_ on it! Damn his kind words, anyway. She glared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, who seemed just as unhappy to see her. "You couldn't have held it together just a _little_ longer? Dumbass," she grumbled at herself.

   There wasn't enough time for a proper shower. She washed up at the sink and rushed back to her room to hurriedly apply her makeup, before shimmying into skinny jeans and a frilly blue top decorated with silver butterflies. She considered her choice in shoes, decided that sandals were hardly appropriate footwear when one might end up running for one's life, and slipped on a pair of metallic silver Vans. She twisted her hair up into its usual bun, then picked up the box containing the finishing touch.

   Charley had given it to her the day before. It looked like an ordinary silver locket, engraved with a butterfly. Inside, it contained a picture of her parents on one side and herself on the other. And behind them ran a network of delicate circuitry that would allow Charley and Stoker to monitor and track Alley's whereabouts throughout the day. They'd already set up a network of Charley's spy beetles throughout the city, to connect and boost the signal from the tower all the way back to the garage, where business would run like usual so as not to arouse any suspicion should Limburger be keeping tabs on them.

   Stoker planned to hide out not too far from the tower, keeping an eye on things from a closer distance. But still not close enough for Alley's liking. What if something went wrong? What if the bug stopped working? What if Limburger figured out what was going on? What if he really tried to kill her and Stoker couldn't get there to help her in time? What if—?

   "What if you _stop freaking out_ over the potential what-ifs before you have a stroke?" she growled at herself as she fastened the locket around her neck. Charley and Stoker knew what they were doing. She knew what _she_ was doing. They'd hashed and rehashed the plan through the entire weekend, and there was no way anything could go wrong as long as they followed it. Nodding to herself, Alley took a deep breath and turned to determinedly march from the bedroom. It was high time to get things over with.

 


	29. Twenty-Nine

   Alley didn't know what she was expecting when she set foot into Limburger Tower, but it sure wasn't the posh and sophisticated atmosphere that greeted her. Everywhere she looked, 1920s Art Deco met her eyes. White marble and polished wood and shining gold accents, and spaced at even intervals were long, clear cylinders, filled with water and lit from below. A variety of glowing jellyfish floated gracefully inside each one.

   Even more astounding was the network of large tubes that ran the length of the ceiling, interconnecting at various intervals and disappearing behind gold-papered walls. Tropical fish lazily made their sojourn through the waterways, headed to … _wherever_ it was they were going. She tried hard not to gape as she slowly walked toward a large, S-shaped reception desk, but when the white plaster ceiling abruptly gave way to clear glass—through which the shadowed images of even more fish could be glimpsed—she couldn't help letting her jaw drop open. Just a bit.

   "Can I help you?" a bored voice intoned, jerking Alley's attention back to the desk, and to the receptionist sitting behind it, trashy romance novel in hand.

   "I-I'm here to see Mr. Limburger," she stammered, a bit flustered.

   "Do you have a business appointment?"

   Alley wondered why anyone would _voluntarily_ visit Lawrence Limburger without one. Nevertheless, she answered politely, "Alley Davidson. Ten o'clock."

   This earned her a long, appraising look before the receptionist closed her book with a snap and slid a ledger toward her. "Sign in, please," she instructed as she scribbled a short note and handed it over. "Take the first elevator on the left. Top floor. This security code will bypass all other floors and take you directly to Mr. Limburger's office."

   "Thank you." Alley stepped into the elevator and eyeballed the control panel. There was a smaller security panel beside it; she punched in the six-number code she'd been given, then pushed the button for the 100th floor. As the lift began to rise, she wondered why three of the four walls appeared to be made of glass.

   She got her answer a moment later, when the dreary gray brick of the elevator shaft abruptly gave way to … _nothing_. And she found herself in the middle of the ocean.

   The transition was so unexpected that she released a yelp of fright and scurried back until her shoulders slammed against the elevator doors. She cringed, half-expecting the clear walls to crack and shatter under the pressure of thousands of gallons of water, pouring into the elevator.

   When nothing happened, she forced herself to relax by degrees, cautiously moving to the other side of the lift for a better look. She was _inside_ a giant aquarium, ascending at a snail's pace. Attracted by the lights in the ceiling, schools of fish swam close, following the reflections on the glass. Some species she recognized—puffers and clown-fish—while others looked completely alien to her. Given who owned the building, she wondered if they actually _were_.

   A large, shadowy form appeared from nowhere, nosing at the glass, and she yipped and jumped back again, clutching at her pounding heart as the curious tiger shark turned and swam off. Growing up on Florida beaches, she'd met her share of sharks during snorkeling and surfing excursions. But that didn't mean she enjoyed getting up close and personal with them!

   Grey concrete again met her eyes as the elevator continued to rise, leaving the unusual aquarium behind. She relaxed against the wall, a bit disappointed. She'd always enjoyed aquariums, and never in a million years would she have expected to find one in the middle of an office building! Exactly how much money did Limburger _have_ , to be able to afford the upkeep on such a thing? Not to mention all the building and city codes he was probably violating. Stoker hadn't been kidding about Limburger's far-reaching influence.

   She pulled out her phone to check the time, glanced up the long string of numbers over the doors, frowning as they slowly lit, one at a time. She'd only reached the forty-fifth floor, and she was starting to get worried. It was five minutes until ten, and unless her current transportation had a speed other than "sluggish", there was no way she was going to be in time for her meeting. She suspected Limburger was the type who did _not_ appreciate being kept waiting. She clutched the poster tube in her hands tightly and shifted, wondering if it might be faster to take a different elevator, or even the stairs. Hell, she could probably _walk_ to the top floor and still reach it before this thing did! She punched the button for the next floor up, intending to hop off.

   Nothing happened. The lift continued to rise; obviously, using the bypass code had deactivated the ability to get off on any other floor except the top. She sighed heavily. Swell.

   When she reached the fiftieth floor, the walls disappeared for a second time and she once again found herself surrounded by an endless abyss of water.

   There was something … different about this part of the aquarium. Even though she was on a higher level, the pressure felt heavier, the water dark and murky. Gone were the colorful coral beds and schools of bright fish. There was nothing but the water and, glimmering far, far above, a hint of daylight dancing along what she could only assume was the surface. She edged closer to the glass, trying to peer below her, but it was too dark to make out much detail. It felt like it had been abandoned. Or maybe this part was still under construction.

   A pale shape slid by, directly below her line of vision.

   She startled, pressed her forehead to the glass, trying to get a better look, and nearly had a heart attack when a huge gray shark swam past, directly in front of her and so close that she could clearly see a blank, black eye the size of a baseball fixed right on her. A giant, pink-tinted maw opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth as long as her fingers and twice as wide, and Alley squealed and slammed back against the doors as the Great White glided into the murk.

   Her knees buckled and she slid down the wall to the floor, panting and shaking with adrenaline. Nope. Definitely _not_ under construction. That had been, without a doubt, the biggest shark she'd _ever_ seen. It wasn't the only one in there, either. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized there were more pale shapes slipping in and out of view, some large, some small, all of them equally terrifying. There had to be at least eight or nine sharks in this tank. Possibly more. What did Limburger need with so _many_ of them, she wondered. Did he keep pet sharks the way other people kept Dobermans and Great Danes? Was it some sort of power display or intimidation tactic?

   If that was the case, it had worked like a charm. She was _definitely_ intimidated. She huddled against the doors, knees drawn to her chin as she waited for her slow ascent to finally reach its end. She did her best to ignore the sharks circling the lift, attracted by the light and movement. She didn't even have any of that annoying music to distract her, just the soft, rhythmic chimes announcing the passing of each floor.

   She unconsciously began to count them, keeping her eyes fixed on the reflection of light off the surface of the water, drawing ever-closer.

_Ninety-seven … ninety-eight … ninety-nine … one hundred!_

   The final chime sounded, the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Alley scrambled to her feet and bolted from the lift, right into a blast of frigid air-conditioning. The unexpected shock of it made her yelp. She'd forgotten how _cold_ Limburger liked to keep his atmosphere, and now she wished she'd had the foresight to throw on a sweater over her too-thin shirt.

   She stood in a narrow hallway with windows on one side and blank wall on the other. Her eyes widened at the sight of Chicago stretching for miles below her, and she paused a moment, counting the various half-completed construction sites dotting the grid. Some of them seemed abandoned; it was in one of these that Stoker was hiding out, waiting for any sign of trouble. She worried a lip, wishing she had some way of contacting him to make sure he was where he was supposed to be. After much deliberation, Charley had foregone adding any type of communications transmitter to Alley's pendant. Such a thing was far more likely to be detected; just the hidden GPS tracker was risky enough as it was, should Limburger be paranoid enough to have her searched.

   Alley turned from the window, checking her phone again and wincing at how far past ten it was. No more delaying the inevitable, she told herself sternly. Time to face the music. She marched determinedly toward the set of double doors at the end of the hallway, knocking politely before pushing one open.

   "You're late."

   She flinched at the chill in Limburger's voice as she stepped into his office, finding herself in a large and lavishly-furnished room with the same sort of 1920s vibe. Again with the elegant décor, but his walls were hung with various old-fashioned guns and pictures of famous gangsters. A scowling portrait of Al Capone graced the wall directly behind Limburger's desk. He really liked his mob themes, apparently.

   The Plutarkian's rubbery lips curled in cold smile. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show. Tell me, did you enjoy your journey through my aquarium? I think of it as rather … a home away from home, as it were."

   "It was … an experience," she hedged. "But the fish were pretty."

   "Yes. Well." He clapped his white-gloved hands. "Enough with the pleasantries. Considering you are here, I would imagine your little mission was successful?" His eyes gleamed as he waved her forward.

   She took a breath and strode across the room with as much confidence as she could muster. She took note of the wide glass panels on either side of the carpeted walkway, glimpsing the murky water just under her feet. The Great White glided past, appearing from nowhere and vanishing just as suddenly, prompting her to take a startled sidestep.

   "Whatever is the matter? Do you not like my pets?" Limburger's smile was all teeth. "Charming creatures, are they not?"

   "I'm more of a dog person, myself," she muttered, plopping the poster tube on his desk. "There you go. One set of Regenerator plans, as ordered. Can I have my life back, please?"

   "In a moment." He opened the tube and slid the blueprints into his hand. He perused them critically as Alley fidgeted and tried not to sweat, certain that at any moment he'd figure out the deception. But his smile reappeared as he studied the specs, growing wider by the moment as a bright gleam entered his eyes. "Well, now. Yes, this will do _nicely_ ," he purred, rolling the papers up again and depositing them back into the tube. "It seems you have indeed fulfilled your end of the bargain. Tell me, how did you manage to weasel the plans away from that odious rodent?"

   Alley didn't bat an eye. "Martian ale," she replied smoothly. "Carbine brought it down with her and the guys got into a betting match on who could hold their liquor better." She smirked. "They're probably sleeping it off right now. It was easy to grab the plans; Stoker left them sitting right out on the table."

   "I see, I see. And they won't suspect anything amiss when they rouse?" He leveled a narrow-eyed gaze on her.

   She affected a casual shrug. "They've got no reason to suspect _me_ of anything. Why would I steal his plans?" She frowned. "I guess he'll be pretty upset that he … um … misplaced them, though. The others probably won't be too happy with him, either."

   "Oh, piff. Certainly, he can draft up a new set." Limburger sniffed and waved aside her concerns. "What matters now is I have my hands on the key to my greatness! I must make arrangements at once. No sense in risking my most valuable acquisition falling into the wrong hands."

   "That's great, Mr. Limburger. But do you think maybe you can get me back into college first, like you promised?" Alley asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

   He folded his hands under his chin, fixing her with a sly gaze. "Are you certain that is your true desire?" he asked. "I must admit I had my doubts about your ability to actually pull this off, but you did surprisingly well. My sources have informed me of your efforts to woo that miscreant mouse, with him being none the wiser. You would indeed make an excellent mole for future, shall we say, operations?"

   She frowned. "What, you sayin' you plan to keep blackmailing me?"

   "Oh, no no _no_! Nothing so vulgar as that. Why, I'd be more than willing to place you on my payroll. It would be a bonafide position! I do pay well, and imagine the perks such a fortune might bring, hmmm? Not to mention the bounteous benefits of being employed by a man of such _far-reaching_ influence like myself! You need not toil away in educational slavery, wasting years and talent to pay off those odious student loans that no doubt will be piling upon your doorstep."

   Alley tried her best to quell the rising panic and didn't respond. Limburger watched her shrewdly for a few more moments, before the intercom on his desk buzzed loudly.

   "Mr. Limburger," the tinny voice of the front desk receptionist intoned, "Miss Johnson is on line one, asking to talk to you."

   His lips curled in displeasure. "Have I not told you I'm in an important meeting and am not to be disturbed?" he snarled.

   "Yes, sir, but she's most insistent. She says it's a matter of some urgency."

   He sighed heavily. "Put her through," he sniffed. Turning his attention back to Alley, he added, "Well, it seems our meeting has been cut short. Run along now. We're finished here. Oh, and do think about my offer, hmmm?"

   "Mr. Limburger, my schooling?" she blurted. "We had a deal!"

   He sighed again. "Oh, very well, then. If you absolutely _insist_. To prove I am a man of my word, I shall see to it that your academic reputation and your funds are re-invoked. All shall be back to normal before week's end. Oh, and Miss Davidson, I _will_ be in touch." Picking up the handset on his desk, he dismissed her with a casual wave.

   Heart pounding, Alley turned on her heel and walked as quickly as she dared, half-expecting him to come roaring down the aisle after her. She made it to the door unscathed, slipped out of the office and closed it behind her, leaned against it weakly for a moment as she sought to catch her breath. She had done it! She had succeeded in delivering the plans and had made it out of there intact.

   Almost, she reminded herself sternly. It was too early to relax yet, not until she was well out of that tower and back to the safety of the garage. She forced her shaky legs to move and practically sprinted to the end of the hall, punching the elevator button with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. To her dismay, the lift was down on the fiftieth floor, and didn't seem to be in any more of a hurry to get to the hundredth than it had before. She bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet as she stared out the window at the glistening city.

   Two large reflections suddenly loomed in the glass on either side of her own, and she found her arms being locked into a vice-like grip. "Hey!" she yelped, startled. "What the—?" Her protests were cut off by a meaty hand clapping over her mouth, covering half her face, as she found herself being roughly turned to face the two huge goons who had appeared from nowhere. They were the same men she'd seen in the school office that first day. The one holding her leered down at her as the second held a shushing finger to his lips with a mocking smirk.

   Without a word, he reached out and started patting her down. She tried to squirm away from his hands, but the first goon holding her gave her a rough shake. The second one finished his pat-down, reached up to trace a finger down her throat, still leering as he reached the low-cut neckline and tugged down. She tried to kick him away, earning nothing but another shake and a derisive laugh as he slipped his finger under the chain around her neck and lifted the locket from under her blouse. He let it dangle for a moment, before roughly yanking it from her neck with a sharp tug. She winced as it snapped, feeling the sting as the thin chain bit into her skin.

   He fumbled to open the locket, examined the pictures inside with exaggerated interest before reaching into his back pocket to withdraw a switchblade. He held it in front of her face and she flinched when the knife popped out of its handle with a soft _shnick_. She was very nearly sick when he trailed the cold flat of the blade down her cheek, over her collarbone and down her chest, expecting to feel it plunge into her flesh any second.

   Instead, he used it to work one of the pictures out of the locket, and her heart sank when he studied the network of circuitry closely, whistling softly. He was clearly impressed.

   Behind them, the elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open. The goon glanced at the open doors, looked back at Alley with a grin, then reached into the lift to punch the code to the ground floor. He let the locket dangle for a second before opening his hand, and Alley could only watch in helpless terror as it fell to the floor of the lift. After a second, the doors slid closed, and the elevator began its slow descent. Without her.

   For the first time, the goon holding her arms spoke. "Mr. Limburger would like to have a word with you," he said, voice dripping with false politeness. "Mind comin' with us for a second?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... I hope it wasn't too boring to read, and the idea of an aquarium in the building isn't too far out there. But, you know, the series DOES show fish and sharks swimming through tubes in his building, so they have to go somewhere, right?
> 
> Although it does beg the question, what happens to all those fish when the guys topple the tower every time? You'd think there'd be a flood of water and sushi all over the streets. Gotta love the cartoon logic. XD


	30. Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Achievement unlocked: 100,000 words passed!
> 
> And with this chapter, I am pleased (and all kinds of amazed) to announce that this is the longest fanfiction I have EVER written thus far, and it's far from finished. I feel so accomplished! So I took extra-special care to make this chapter worth reading. Enjoy!

   Adrenaline flooded Alley's body in a heady rush, and before she could second-guess the wisdom of her actions, she violently kicked out, catching Goon Number Two sharply in the chin. His head snapped back as a pained grunt escaped, surprise and fury filling his expression. She let both legs drop out from under her, arms and shoulders mightily protesting the sudden shift in weight. The pain was worth it; Goon Number One, unprepared for the move, fumbled to hold onto her but she slipped from his grasp. She spun in a crouch, one leg extended to sweep both of his out from under him, making him stumble right into his companion. Both men went down in a startled, cursing heap and she used the opportunity to bolt down the hallway, desperately seeking an escape.

   They hadn't been in the office, but they had to have come from _somewhere_! There had to be a secret entrance or something! She patted along the wall, seeking a hidden door. Grabbed a light fixture and yanked so hard that it pulled right out of the wall in a shower of cracking plaster. She left it dangle by its wires and tried another across the way, with the same disappointing results.

   She was just reaching for a third fixture when she found herself being grabbed again. Goon One wrapped his arms around her torso to pin her upper arms tightly. "Hold still, ya little bug," he growled in her ear. In reply, she dug her heel into his foot, but her slight weight made little impact on the thick leather boot covering it. He merely laughed at her pitiful effort.

   Goon Two approached, wiping a trail of blood from his mouth. Alley glared at him and hoped she'd knocked a few teeth loose. "Yer gonna be sorry you did that," he snarled, raising his arm to backhand her. She flinched away.

   "Boss said don't hurt 'er," Goon One grunted. "C'mon." He started dragging his hostage down the hall, ignoring her struggles, while Goon Two snatched up the small purse she'd dropped in her struggles. He yanked it open and pulled out her phone. With an evil leer, he dropped it to the floor and brought a heavy, booted foot right down on it. There was a sickening crunch.

   Alley's jaw dropped. "That was a brand new phone, you jerk!" she shrieked.

   "And now it's a pile o' junk on the carpet," he sneered, yanking her wallet free and riffling its contents. He smirked as he pulled out a wad of cash, pocketing it before dropping the purse back to the floor.

   "Seriously? Now you're _mugging_ me?"

   "Cry me a river, Toots."

   "You unbelievable _ass_!" She kicked at him again, but he was ready for it this time and responded by grabbing both of her legs, hoisting her into the air.

   Logic told her there was no point in fighting. She obviously had nowhere to run, even if she did manage to wrestle free again. If anything, she'd only end up pissing them both off enough to ignore their boss's orders not to hurt her. Even so, that didn't stop her from putting up one hell of a fight as they carried her back to Limburger's office, holding her between them like a sack of grain and barely managing to keep hold of her struggling body. She yelled and kicked, wrenched her body back and forth. Got her hands around a forearm and dug her fingers in until soft flesh gave way under her sharp nails, drawing more blood. Goon One yelled in pain and snarled a curse before abruptly letting go; she grunted when she landed hard on her back, head bouncing sharply against the carpeted floor. She lay stunned for a moment as the other goon dropped her legs, and both men stalked away, muttering obscenities under their breaths and shooting glares that promised bloody retribution.

   From above, she heard Limburger's throaty laughter. "Quite the plucky creature, aren't you? Really, was there any call for such a vulgar display?"

   She slowly sat up, rubbing her tender skull. "What's the big idea?" she snapped, affecting a bravado she was far from feeling. "Is this how you treat all your guests?"

   He slammed a fist against the desk, making her jump. "Only the ones who betray me," he snarled, all signs of pleasantry vanishing behind a deadly glare.

   She glared right back. "I don't know what you're talking about. I _gave_ you the stupid blueprints! I stood right here and watched you look 'em over!"

   "Yes, indeed. However, it would _appear_ that the blueprints you gave me are _not_ the ones I asked for!"

   She let her expression fall carefully blank. "I don't see how they can't be. They were the only ones on the table. He was going over them with everyone again before their stupid drinking game got started. Are you saying he was planning to take fake plans back to Mars or something?"

   "Well. We shall see in a moment, hmmm?" Limburger's eyes narrowed as he studied her, searching for weakness, any sign that might give her deception away. Behind his desk, a wall panel slid open and a very odd-looking little man stepped through. A shock of orange hair perched like a bird's nest atop his enlarged head. He was dressed in a stained lab coat and black latex gloves. He was the weirdest-looking man Alley had ever seen in her life. But he seemed strangely familiar. It took her a moment to recall where she'd seen him before; back when Throttle had shown her his memories.

   "You wanted to see me, your Cheddar Cheesiness?" Dr. Karbunkle wheezed, fixing Alley with a curious look. At least, she thought he was looking at her. It was hard to tell with the goggles covering his eyes.

   "Ah, Karbunkle. Excellent timing," Limburger purred. He opened the poster tube and slid the plans out. " _Do_ be so kind as to take a moment and examine these for me."

   Alley's heart sank as the doctor unrolled the blueprints and studied them carefully. The jig was up. Somehow, Limburger had discovered the ruse, and now she was royally screwed. She had no doubt that the Miss Johnson who had called him was the one who'd ratted her out. How _she_ had discovered the secret was the bigger mystery here. Alley didn't know anyone by the name of Johnson.

   Karbunkle hummed as he examined the prints, nodding here and there and mumbling to himself. Limburger, in the meantime, rested his flabby cheek on his fist and idly drummed his fingers on the desk, looking more and more annoyed as moments passed. Alley cast a few furtive glances around, thinking to use his distraction to escape. But the hidden panel had already slid closed, blocking that potential exit, and Goon Number Two had made himself comfortable against the wall beside the only visible door. He sneered at her, as if _daring_ her to try it. She noticed the gleam of a knife in his hand and deemed it wiser to stay put.

   "Well? What do the plans say?" Limburger suddenly barked, slamming his fist hard on the desk and making everyone in the room jump.

   "I-it is not a regenerator, your Flatulent Fragranceness," the scientist stuttered. "The base plans indeed have the potential to create an endless supply of resources. A work of _genius_ , if one is to be honest…" His voice nearly dripped with envy.

   "But?" Limburger's voice was flat.

   "They have been _altered_ , your Headcheesiness."

   "Altered _how_?"

   "Several of the necessary components have been … er … _compromised_. Rather than _creating_ resources, should this machine be built and fired, well … it would bring about a disaster of worldly proportions!"

   Limburger's eyebrow twitched. "Meaning?"

   "Plutark would be toast."

   He steepled his fingers and switched his glare back to Alley. "Well, dear girl. What have you to say _now_?" he purred.

   Alley thought fast, maintaining her outward calm by sheer force of will. "I guess I wasn't as good as I thought, trying to seduce Stoker," she replied with a shrug. "I mean, it isn't surprising. That guy's been around the block a few times. He probably saw me coming a mile off. He's a scary good empath, too. He must have suspected something, switched the plans out. He's an opportunist, after all."

   "Indeed. Of the lowest sort, isn't he? Sending the innocent lamb into the jaws of the wolves. Or sharks, as the case may be." Limburger's smile was sharp and grim. "You may as well give up the act, girl. I know very well that you're fully in on the ruse."

   "I'm not—"

   "You _are_. And might I offer some free advice?" He leaned in closer until the stench of his breath threatened to make her faint. "In future, you _might_ consider choosing your friends more _wisely_."

 _Friends?_ Alley's brow furrowed, uneasy.

   "Not that such advice will be of use to you _now_ , of course." He sat back and straightened his tie. "Double-crossing the double-crosser! How very … quaint. And to think, you very nearly got away with it! Why, at this moment, I might have been on Plutark, constructing a weapon to bring about the destruction of my own planet!" His expression turned evil as he leaned over the desk. "Oh, this _ingenious_ machine shall indeed be constructed," he purred. "And when it is completed, I shall take it directly to Mars and fire it upon those wretched rodents scrambling about in their caves! I shall destroy their species and their entire wasteland of a planet and be done with them and their silly little rebellion once and for all! I imagine such a phenomenal accomplishment will do just as well to earn me my seat of honor!"

   "You can't do that!" Alley blurted, horrified. She scrambled to her feet. "There's no way Stoker will—"

   "Ah, yes. Stoker." His chuckle sent a shiver of dread down her spine. "It _is_ a shame that I will be unable to _personally_ offer him my sincerest thanks for handing me this delightfully diabolical weapon! Oh, I _do_ long to see the expression on his face when he realizes that he holds the sole responsibility for bringing about the complete destruction of his own planet!" His evil grin broadened as he pondered. "Or, perhaps I give him too much credit. After all, _you_ share equal part in his blame, do you not?" When she tried to speak, he tutted at her and wagged a finger. "You need not worry about that, dear girl. I rather think you will be a little too _dead_ to ponder the consequences of your own actions."

   And he pressed a small red button residing at the top-right corner of his desk.

   Three things happened at once.

   Alley scrambled forward just as the floor under her feet dropped away, clawing for the desk. Limburger realized her intent the moment her hands closed over the blueprints, roaring with fury as she snatched them right out from under him. He lunged after her, his sizable bulk shaking the heavy desk as it groaned under his weight. Alley shrieked when she found herself falling into the shark tank directly beneath her, the frigid water shocking her into exhaling her breath. She kicked desperately for the surface, emerged coughing and sputtering as she scrabbled for a handhold at the opening in the floor. There was a two-foot drop between it and the water, but fear and adrenaline somehow gave her the strength to catch the edge of the hinged door, gaining a tedious grip by her fingers. She weakly attempted to pull herself further out of the water before a looming shadow stilled her efforts.

   "Well, now. Haven't we gotten ourselves into quite the predicament," Limburger gloated as he stood over her, watching her fruitless struggles. His eyes narrowed upon sighting the ruined blueprints floating on the water.

   Alley noted the direction of his gaze, glared up at him as she defiantly kicked out, catching the soaking papers with her foot to drag them fully under the surface and ruin any hope of salvaging them.

Black fury filled his expression. " _You're going to pay for that!_ " the Plutarkian bellowed as he dropped to his haunches. She flinched, expecting a backhand across the face. Rather, he pulled one pristine white glove free, revealing a mottled, green-scaled, clawed and webbed hand. She couldn't help gaping at this first glimpse of his true appearance.

   Something beneath the water bumped her legs, and she released a frightened shriek and drew them closer to her body. A sharp fin cut the surface to her left, vanished again, and Limburger chortled. "It seems my pets have come to investigate," he purred, withdrawing a small vial from his pocket, uncapping it and dipping a scaled finger inside. It came out coated in a thin, yellowish ichor. "They must smell blood in the water." He leered at her. "Well. They will in a moment." And with that, he reached down and plunged his claw deep into Alley's exposed bicep.

   She screamed as agony flared, spreading like fire up and down the length of her arm. Blood began to flow freely from the deep puncture, trickling in rivulets down her arm and shoulder, soaking into her shirt. It wasn't long before the water surrounding her began to take on an ominous reddish hue. Her breath came in panicked gasps and she tried again to pull herself from the tank. But now a strange, numbing chill had also begun to spread from the wound, not only dulling the stabbing pain, but dulling any sensation of touch altogether. In a few mere moments, her arm had gone completely dead. She lost her grip on the door, dangling by one hand. Her fingers began to cramp painfully as she struggled to maintain her tenuous grasp.

   "Feeling a little _numb_ , are we?" Limburger taunted. He capped the vial and shook it at her. "Just a little concoction the good doctor whipped up. You have such a fascinating variety of venomous specimens on this planet! I suppose I ought to thank you. I haven't yet had a chance to test the effects of this particular poison on a human. I'd considered using one of my subordinates, but cheap help is so difficult to come by these days. Why waste perfectly good hired muscle? But, as _you_ seem so perfectly willing to volunteer your services for the greater good, I've decided to allow you the honor."

   Alley remained tight-lipped and glared up at him, refusing to give in to the panic clawing away inside her chest.

   "Oh, you need not worry," he tsked. "I doubt there's enough of it in your system to _kill_ you. At most, it will render you unable to move for, oh, several hours, I should think." An evil smile. "Well. _Theoretically_ , anyway. I imagine we won't have quite so much time to test that theory. Tell me, how long _can_ you hold your breath?"

   "I've managed to hold it long enough to survive _your_ nausea-inducing stench," she bit out.

   His expression turned thunderous. "Well. I suppose it won't matter either way. I'm certain my pets will make short work of you _long_ before you have the chance to drown," he snapped.

   Alley refused to acknowledge his taunting, too intent on maintaining her fragile handhold. She suspected the only reason she hadn't fallen into the water yet was because her fingers had frozen into their locked position over the door's edge. The numbness had spread quickly from her arm into her torso and was working its way down into her legs and into her other arm. It felt as if her head had been attached to the body of a lifeless doll. She didn't know how much longer she could hold on. Her muscles didn't want to cooperate anymore.

   Blood continued to drip freely, and she couldn't hold back a small sob as more dark shapes appeared, churning the murky water. This was what she got from trying to play hero, she thought. A choice between one horrible death or another. At least she wouldn't feel anything when the sharks inevitably tore her to pieces. Limburger had done her _that_ small favor, intentional or not. And if she was going to die, at least she'd redeemed her failure by destroying those plans. She might not have been able to save herself, but she'd managed to save an entire _planet_. That was an accomplishment to be proud of. Even if nobody would ever know it.

   Her remaining strength deserted her as her tenuous hold finally gave way, and she found herself slipping into the water, barely having enough time to draw in a deep breath before her head submerged. The weight of her clothes, light as they were, still dragged her down. She could only watch, salt water stinging her eyes, as the square patch of light over her head slowly shrank.

   One of the sharks rushed her; she felt the impact of its strike as a dull nudge in her side, violently shifting her trajectory and forcing the breath out of her burning lungs with a mighty whoosh of bubbles. She saw stars, bright lights flashing across her vision as she struggled valiantly not to breathe in again.

   It took her a moment to realize that some of those lights were not due to her slow suffocation. They came instead from the far-away opening at the surface. Bright flashes that reminded her of fireworks, or a laser light show. She dimly wondered what was causing it before they abruptly disappeared and a great, black shape filled the square. The muffled roar of a large, heavy object plunging into deep water met her ears, and the circling sharks scattered.

   Alley's vision grayed around the edges as her lungs screamed for her to open her mouth, to draw in much-needed air. Her mind was beginning to feel as leaden as her body. At any moment she would black out. Her lungs would flood with water, and she would well and truly drown. She realized this with a detached sense of recognition, wondering why she felt so calm. The idea of death by drowning had always secretly terrified her, more than the thought of being attacked by sharks. But now that it was really happening, it wasn't nearly as frightening as she'd expected. She felt peaceful, her mind hazy and detached from the horror of her situation. Perhaps the poison had numbed all of her emotions, as well.

   Her vision had narrowed to a single, pinpoint focus, and it seemed to be filled with … purple. She frowned. For some reason, Limburger had jumped into the tank with her, plowing through the sharks like a battering ram. He hit the Great White in the side as it passed, sending it careening off into the murk. She felt mildly curious as to why he was suddenly attacking his own pets.

   And then, like magic, he was gone. And rather than garish purple, her fading vision was filled with the deep, rich warmth of dark cherry.

   Recognition. Safety. Comfort and trust.

   Alley smiled serenely as the world disappeared.

 


	31. Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick shout-out to everyone who has given kudos or left a comment on the story. I appreciate them all! :)

   It was way too bright in her room. Even through her tightly-clenched eyelids, light still managed to pierce through in a pinkish hue, making her grumble and raise an arm to block her face. A sharp jab at her wrist quickly put an end to _that_ idea. She forced one lid open just enough to observe the IV needle poking from her skin. "Ow," she mumbled, lowering her arm again.

   "Alley! My baby!"

   The familiar voice made her eyes snap open; she blinked against the light until her vision cleared enough to see the blonde-haired woman with teary blue eyes hovering over her. Behind the woman was a man with dark hair and a neatly-trimmed beard just touched with gray. Alley squinted, wondering if she was hallucinating. "M-mom? Daddy?" She tried to sit up, gave up after a second when her body refused to cooperate. It felt like her arms and legs had been dipped in lead. Charles Davidson fiddled with a wired remote, and the bed slowly began to lift until Alley was sitting. She closed her eyes against the ensuing dizziness, wondering just how long she'd been flat on her back to cause such a reaction.

   "Welcome back, Bugaboo." Her father's deep voice sounded oddly hoarse. "You've been out of it for quite awhile. How're you feeling?"

   The jury was still out on that one. Her father hadn't called Bugaboo since she was eight. Brow furrowed, Alley turned her head to examine her surroundings. Plain white walls. A smallish television attached to an extending arm. A half-drawn privacy curtain separating her from the closed door. A second half-closed door, beyond which she could just catch a glimpse of another room; probably a bathroom. There was also an alarming amount of scary-looking tubes and wires extending from a large medical monitor, most of which appeared to be hooked at various intervals to her own body. "Confused," she decided after a moment. "Am I … in a hospital?"

   "Good to see your astounding powers of observation haven't diminished."

   "Very funny." She peered around her father's large frame to pull a face at her cousin, who was seated in a rolling chair beside the bed. Charley was smiling, yet suspiciously glassy-eyed. "Somebody gonna tell me what happened?"

   "Oh, it was horrible!" Never one to pass up an opportunity for drama, Vivian Davidson sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a well-used tissue. "An office building collapsed and you were caught right in the middle of it. Charley says her friends pulled you out, but a water main had broken and flooded an entire floor with you trapped inside! You nearly drowned before they could get to you!" And she burst into fresh tears while Alley awkwardly patted her hand and shot her father a pleading glance.

   "Now, now, Vivi. Calm down," Charles murmured, rubbing his wife's back. "Our girl's gonna be fine. You'll just wear her out, carryin' on like that."

   "That Limburger Tower," Vivian growled, crumpling the tissue in her hand. "I've read about it, you know. It's always having structural issues like this! It's amazing nobody else has gotten more seriously injured or killed! Someone needs to write the mayor and complain! Threaten to sue the city if something isn't done to put a stop to it! I don't care _how_ wealthy and influential that Limburger person is, somebody needs to put a stop to his nonsense!"

   Charles rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head. "I'm sure after this incident, the city officials will be looking into the cause of the collapse and taking proper measurements to make sure it never happens again."

   A much-needed distraction came with a knock on the door, which opened to admit a short, dark-haired nurse, whose name tag read "Shelly". "I just came in to remind you that visiting hours ended five minutes ago," she said briskly, moving to the monitors at Alley's bedside and jotting down their readings on a notepad.

   "But, our daughter just woke up," Vivian protested. "We can't visit a little while longer?"

   "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we keep strict curfew. You can visit tomorrow," Shelly replied, not unkindly.

   "I just hate to leave her alone," Vivian sniffled. "All by herself in this cold place—"

   "It's okay, Ma. I'm worn out, anyway," Alley cut in, attempting to stave off the disapproving frown crossing the nurse's face.

   "You guys have hardly eaten anything all day," Charley added, hopping to her feet. "How about we go to that little cafe across the street. I hear the food is pretty good there."

   Vivian again started to protest, but her husband squeezed her shoulders and nodded. "It's a good idea. I could use some grub. Come on, Vivi. Alley'll still be here when we come back."

   "I … I suppose I could do with a cup of soup," Vivian finally agreed, dabbing under her eyes again. "We'll be back first thing tomorrow." She leaned down to press a kiss to Alley's forehead, tearing up all over again. "I'm so relieved you're awake," she sniffled.

   Shelly turned usher the Davidsons from the room. When Charley moved to follow them, Alley caught her by the sleeve. "Okay, what really happened?" she muttered, trying not to be overheard.

   Charley paused, glancing at the door. "You don't remember?"

   Alley shrugged. "Not really. My head's still all fuzzy. It's kind of a blur."

   "What's the last clear memory you have?"

   She considered for a few moments. "The barbecue, I think," she replied. "I remember me and Chex bringing a carload of food, because…" She trailed off, frowning. "More Martians showed up, right? I didn't dream that up, did I?"

   Charley slumped, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "That's a relief. I was afraid you'd forgotten all about the guys. I really wasn't looking forward to trying to explain about _them_ all over again."

   Alley snorted. "As if _anyone_ could forget those hairy lunkheads once they meet 'em," she deadpanned, earning a laugh.

   "Hey, you coming?" Charles poked his head back into the room, eyebrow raised curiously.

   "Look, can you go ahead without me? I'll catch up. I wanna fill Alley in on what went down. You know, with the tower collapsing and all," Charley replied.

   Her uncle frowned. "You want us to stay and—?"

   "No!" Alley offered a sheepish grin at their surprised glances. "Um, don't take this the wrong way, but I _really_ don't want to deal with Mom right now. She'll be blubbering all over me. Can you just … distract her for a bit while I talk with Charley? I just … wanna know what happened, that's all."

   "Hmmm." After a moment's consideration, her father nodded. "Some hot food in the belly ought to help her calm down a bit. Just don't be too long. You don't want the truant officer comin' in here and draggin' you out by your ankles!"

   "Thanks for the warning," Charley deadpanned as he winked and disappeared around the corner. She plopped back into the chair beside Alley. "So. Do you remember what happened just before the barbeque? You met Limburger. Do you remember our plan?"

   Alley thought about it, frowning. "Yeah… I remember that Limburger gave me until Monday to swipe the blueprints of Stoker's invention. Only I was supposed to give him a set of fakes, instead." She lifted her arms to examine the gauze wrapping her hands and fingers, the thick swath of bandages taped around her bicep. "Given my current condition, I imagine it was a spectacular failure."

   Charley blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. "Yeah. Seems that way. Just, nobody can figure out _why_ ," she admitted. She sounded frustrated. "By all accounts, it should have worked. I mean … according to the tracker, you were headed down to the lobby. You were on your way _out_. But then Stoker radioed the guys, demanding they drop everything and give him backup. He was _adamant_ that something was wrong. Despite what the tracker was telling us, he _knew_ you were in trouble."

   "So … they all raced in to save me?"

   "Yeah. And they barely made it in time. When Stoker pulled you out of the shark tank, you weren't breathing and—"

   " _Shark_ tank!" Alley's eyes widened as a small, niggling memory wormed its way free. Cold, dark water and blood and pale shapes slipping silently around her…

   Her heart rate kicked up and her breath came fast and unsteady as she broke into a cold sweat, leaning over to bury her face in her hands. She felt vaguely sick. The equipment monitoring her vitals began to beep shrilly, sending the alarm that something was wrong.

   "Jiminy Christmas, Alley! Calm down!" Charley was instantly there, rubbing her shivering back. "Take deep breaths. That's it."

   Alley breathed deeply and forced herself to relax until the shrill beeping resumed a normal rhythm and her trembling subsided. The door opened, and Shelly poked her head into the room, frowning when she saw Charley sitting there. "Is everything okay in here?"

   "False alarm," Charley replied with exaggerated cheer, sitting back in the chair. "She's fine. Is there any way she can get this medical crap unhooked? It's not like she needs it now. Doc said she's out of danger, right?"

   "Not until Dr. Osborn gives the okay," the nurse replied firmly. "He'll be in first thing tomorrow to check on her progress." Her frown deepened. "Visiting hours are still over. You need to leave now."

   "I'll be gone in a few minutes. I promise! Just … go check your other patients or something. Who's gonna know?" Charley pleaded.

   Shelly huffed through her nose. "You have _five minutes_. If you're still here when I come back, I'm calling security!" She turned on her heel and stomped off.

   "Troll." Charley rolled to the door to kick it closed, shoved off and glided back to the bedside, nearly taking out the heart monitor on the way before slamming into the wall.

   Alley snorted with muffled laughter. "You're gonna get yourself kicked out of here. Sargent Shelly'll toss you out the window and never let you back in," she teased, while her cousin grinned unrepentantly.

   "Yeah, yeah." Charley waved her off. "Anyway, you remembered something just now, didn't you? Can you think of anything else?"

   All humor fading, Alley looked down at her lap and idly picked at the bandages wrapping her fingers, until her cousin slapped her hand away. "I-I'm not so sure I _want_ to remember more," she mumbled. That glimpse she'd gotten had been nothing short of terrifying; a literal nightmare. There was probably good reason why her brain had chosen to block it out.

   Charley looked sympathetic. "I guess I can't really blame you. But, Alley, there are too many unanswered questions. What went wrong? _Why_ did it go wrong? The guys have been tearing up the city for the past week looking for answers."

   "A week!" Alley looked up, jaw dropping. "I've been sleeping for a _week_?"

   "Worse than that, I'm afraid." Charley pulled herself closer. "I don't know what all happened. I wasn't at the fight. Stoker told me to meet him at the hospital. When he showed up with you, you were soaked through, covered in blood… I thought you were dead!" She shuddered, green eyes glossing over briefly. "He'd managed to get you breathing again, but by that point you'd slipped into a coma. Doc said it was due to a combination of blood loss and oxygen deprivation. You have a deep puncture in your arm. Your palms and fingers were sliced up and full of splinters, and your nails are torn to the quick, like you'd been hanging on for dear life to a wooden beam or something. Your side got the worst of it, though."

   "My side…" Alley touched her ribcage, feeling more bandages under the hospital gown. Now that all of her injuries had been pointed out, she realized that she ached all over. But it was a distant, detached sort of aching, like sore muscles from a hard workout. She lifted the gown just enough to examine the patches of gauze covering her side.

   "Stoke thinks a shark got you," Charley told her.

   "A shark…" Alley frowned. "How am I not _dead_?" 

   Her cousin chuckled. "Let's just say your penchant for loose, frilly clothing probably saved your life."

   "…Huh?"

   She reached out to pat Alley on the shoulder. "I am sorry to inform you," she began solemnly, "of the inevitable demise of your shirt." Sitting back with a cheeky grin, she added, "I imagine that shark was pretty disappointed to end up with nothing but a mouthful of fabric instead of a kidney. Well, he got your side pretty good, but it was only a flesh wound."

   "How _big_ a flesh wound?" Alley asked, not sure if she really wanted to know. "Am I gonna be skinnier on one side?" She'd seen enough documentaries on shark attacks to know what sort of damage even a minor bite could do."

   Charley sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Took a couple hundred stitches to patch you up, and it'll definitely scar. Doc was talking the possibility of skin graphs once it was healed, depending on how bad it scarred and whether it could cause trouble." Upon witnessing Alley's tragic expression, she added sternly, "But be thankful it _wasn't_ more serious than that."

   "Yeah, I know." Alley dropped the gown and leaned back, frowning. "I got stabbed and ripped open all in one go. Why am I not in more pain from all this?"

   "You've got some pretty heavy painkillers running through that IV drip. I'm surprised you can form a complete sentence, much less speak with any amount of coherence. Won't surprise me if you wake up tomorrow and forget we even had this conversation."

   "Hah-hah." Alley pulled a face at her. "Also, if I was in a _coma_ , how come I'm not in intensive care? I mean, isn't that pretty _serious_?"

   "Oh, you were definitely in ICU. But you woke up yesterday." Charley tilted her head to the side. "You don't remember that?" When her cousin shook her head, she explained, "You finally came out of it last night. Uncle Chuck called me to let me know. The doc checked you over and once he decided you weren't going to relapse or anything, he had you taken off life support and moved to this room. Your mom told me you'd asked for water, because your throat hurt. Probably from that breathing tube being shoved down it. Then you mumbled some nonsense about dancing giraffes, and then fell back into a normal sleep. You didn't wake up again until now."

   "I don't remember doing _any_ of that." Alley's brow furrowed. "I really talked about dancing giraffes?"

   Charley laughed. "You were pretty out of it, I guess." She sobered. "We got lucky. Doc said some folk take months or years to wake up from a coma. And some never come out of it at all."

   A sharp rap sounded from the door; Nurse Shelly's disapproving face peered in through the viewing window, and Charley nodded and held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Looks like time's up." She rolled her eyes and made a great show of standing and stretching the kinks out of her back. "Look, the official story is that you were caught in the tower when it went down, and were injured in the rubble and trapped in a room when the water main broke. You'd gone there for a job interview. Nobody knows anything about Limburger and what he's been up to."

   Alley nodded. "What about the guys? I don't think Mom'll be able to handle the knowledge that Martians not only walk among us, they practically live at our apartment."

   "Don't worry. I told 'em to lay low as long as your parents are around. They'll watch their step. They've been keeping themselves occupied looking for Limburger, anyway."

   "Looking for…" Alley's eyes went wide. "He _disappeared_?"

   "If you wanna call it that." Charley snorted. "Personally, I'm hoping he's being digested right now. Stoke said he got carried off by his own sharks when the building went down. Apparently, there was sort of an emergency drainage system that opened under the city and emptied the tanks to who-knows-where. The guys didn't follow. Getting you out was more important. And until someone recovers some sort of evidence that he's good and dead, we're not gonna assume anything. But his tower is still down, and looks like it'll be staying that way for a good while." She sauntered to the door, flashing the scowling nurse an innocent smile. Just before she left, she turned to give Alley a cheeky grin. "Don't be surprised if you end up with more visitors," she whispered. "I managed to keep them distracted while you were out, but now that you're awake, there's no way the guys'll stay away."

   And with that teasingly ominous promise, she was gone.

* * *

   Alley dreamed she floated in the middle of a vast, empty ocean.

   She _knew_ she was dreaming, as certain as she knew her own name. But, no matter how hard she willed herself to wake up, she remained stuck, adrift in the endless abyss of water. She panicked briefly, wondering if she might drown, only to realize that she appeared to be breathing quite normally. Well, it _was_ just a dream. Breathing underwater was perfectly natural, right?

   She looked down at herself, half-expecting to find a mermaid's tail where her legs ought to be. No such luck; she was still human. And … dressed in a hospital gown? She grimaced. Really, her subconscious had _no_ sense of fashion.

   Splashes of color caught her attention; a reef of bright coral just below her, waving seagrass that tickled her bare legs and white sand that scrunched pleasantly under her toes when she touched down in the middle of it. A small octopus darted away in a cloud of ink, wriggling into a rocky crevice that seemed impossibly tiny for its body.

   A clownfish suddenly appeared, startling her. It was followed closely by several of its fellows. They circled her curiously, and she smiled, reaching out to touch one as it swam past. "Hey, Nemo. How's it hangin'?" she quipped. Her voice sounded surprisingly clear, for being underwater. A school of angelfish joined the party, and then a large parrot fish swam in, followed closely by several mottled seahorses. It wasn't long before she found herself surrounded by a variable kaleidoscope of tropical wildlife. She wondered humorously when the crab would show up to lead them all in a rousing musical number.

   As far as dreams went, she decided, this one wasn't half bad. Certainly, she couldn't recall dreaming so _lucidly_ before, and hoped she'd remember it once she finally woke up. The fish were beautiful, and the steady, swaying motion of the water around her was comfortable and soothing. It reminded her of home and the beaches she grew up on. She was starting to think she wouldn't care if she _never_ woke up.

   All that changed a moment later when the fish abruptly scattered and darted away, as if something had frightened them. She looked around, confused. The coral and grass and sand were gone. The streams of sunlight filtering down from the surface had also vanished, leaving her alone in a deep, black abyss that was distressingly familiar, and far more ominous. Her heartbeat quickened.

   " _Alley…"_

   Surprised, she looked around. Who had called her name just now? No one was there. It was just her and the silence.

   Then a pale shape slipped beneath her feet and vanished, startling her. It was followed closely by another to her left. And then a third.

   Her heart lurched up into her throat, and she kicked frantically, aiming for the surface, only the surface wasn't _there_ anymore, and the tickling seagrass was suddenly back, now a coil of twisting vines that bound her arms and legs, tightening with every frantic motion, and she had no idea which way was _up_ , and she suddenly couldn't _breathe_ anymore—

   " _Alley!"_

   "I'm here!" she tried to call, only nothing came out now but a stream of bubbles, and she quickly shut her mouth before she lost even more oxygen.

   " _Alley, you need to breathe, honey."_

   Breathe? Was he _crazy_? She'd drown!

   The circling sharks vanished as silently as they had appeared. They slipped into the murk, and she realized with dread that something much _bigger_ had driven them away, as a mammoth shape materialized out of the darkness.

   Cold, dead eyes bigger than her hand. Reddened maw with hooked, bloodied teeth that opened in a horrible parody of a smile. And although its gigantic body was colored the oddest shade of _purple_ , it made the Great White no less terrifying when it honed in on her, jaws gaping wide.

   " _Alley! Wake up!"_

   Didn't he think she _would_ have by now if she could? The dream had her in it's grip, claws piercing lungs desperate for air, and the monster shark was on top of her, ready to swallow her whole. There was nothing left but to close her eyes and wait for the agony of razor teeth to tear flesh and crush bone.

   " _Sorry, honey. No choice."_

   A sharp, stinging pain suddenly bloomed in her cheek. It was so unexpected and so _real_ that it succeeded where all of Alley's willing had failed. Her eyes snapped open, half-blinded by the harsh, yellow light over her head. Her chest seized as she instinctively drew in a great, heaving breath of oxygen, feeding her starving lungs.

   Disoriented and terrified, she thrashed against the seagrass still restraining her limbs, tearing herself free. A shrill, chaotic beeping filtered through the dull roaring in her ears before it was abruptly silenced, and two strong hands wrapped around her arms, forcing her back against the mattress and holding her down as the voice sharply called her name, commanding her to calm down.

   The words cut into her blind panic, grounding her in reality, She came back to her senses by degrees, muscles unlocking and heaving breaths slowing. Her vision cleared as it adjusted to the light, and she was met with a pair of deep, red-brown eyes fixed on hers, shining a turmoil of worry and relief. "S-Stoker…" she whispered, as the last vestiges of the dream retreated and she slumped back into the bed with relief.

   The worry vanished as Stoker's expression softened. "Sweet mother Mars, woman. You about scared me half to death," he scolded, lifted a hand to stroke soothingly over her sweaty hair.

   She huffed. "Join the club." When she tried to sit up, she could barely lift herself. Her body felt like dead weight. Stoker helped by slipping an arm under her back, allowing her to lean into his side. Her wrist was throbbing and she frowned when she noticed the blood soaking her bandages, the IV torn out of her wrist. The bag was on the floor, the stand tipped over and the loosened tube spilling its contents. The heart monitor was dark and silent, wires dangling freely. Her legs were still tangled firmly in the blanket. "Nurse Shelly's gonna pitch a fit when she sees this mess," she mumbled, blushing. She reached up to touch her cheek frowning at the dull ache she could still feel. "Did … did you _hit_ me?" she asked, incredulous.

   Stoker grimaced, reached behind him to pull a tissue out of the box on the nightstand. "I'm sorry, honey. Didn't know what else to do. Yellin' at you wasn't workin' and you were sendin' yourself into a right fit." His tone was apologetic and regretful as he carefully dabbed at the bloodied wound on her hand. He offered a smile that was only a shadow of its usual, cocky self. "I thought of tryin' to kiss you awake, but I figured a slap would have a more immediate effect." He stroked her cheek softly.

   "It's okay," she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes, therefore missing his surprise. "Thank you for bringing me out of it." She shivered. "I haven't had a nightmare like that since … since _ever_."

   "That was no nightmare, honey." At her incredulous glance, he added with a chuckle, "More likely, it was repressed memories tryin' to surface. Charley filled me in, says you don't remember much about what happened."

   "And if what happened involved giant purple sharks, I don't think I _want_ to," she deadpanned. When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. "I know, I know. You need answers and they're all locked in my head. I suppose you came here to try and worm 'em loose, huh?"

   He shook his head. "Nope. That can wait for another time. Reason I came out here is 'cause I wanted to see with my own eyes that you were really alive and kickin'," he replied firmly.

   "Well, I was definitely kickin'" she quipped weakly, gesturing at the mess on the floor. "Guess I'd better clean this up before Sergeant Shelly appears. I'm surprised she hasn't already come barging in, what with that alarm going off and everything." She frowned at the silent monitor. "The fact that it now appears to be _dead_ can't be a good thing…"

   "Just jimmied the wires a bit. A basic malfunction, easily fixed." He smirked. "As for the good nurse, she's been a little distracted. I had to get her away from her station for awhile. I'm sure she'll be out of that utility closet in no time; the way she was poundin' at the door, someone'll come by an' let her out."

   "Stoker! She has a job to do!" Alley couldn't quite keep the laughter out of her voice, which only made his grin widen. "And do I even wanna know how you got past security? There are probably cameras set up all over the place."

   He winked. "I have my methods."

   She rolled her eyes. "Which in Stoker-speak means, 'something that would land a _normal_ person in a federal prison'."

   He chuckled. "You know me so well." He looked toward the door, ears pricking. "Whoops. Looks like someone set the good Sergeant loose. She's makin' her rounds, and she sounds right pissed. Looks like we'll have to cut the visit short."

   Alley couldn't quite mask her disappointment. "Sure, I understand. You'll visit again?" Blushing faintly, she hastily added, "With the others?"

   "Sure thing, honey. Get some sleep. You look exhausted." He smoothed back her hair, leaned down to press a soft kiss to her temple that made her heart skip and her cheeks darken even further. He withdrew with a smile and sauntered to the door, ducking into the bathroom just as it opened to admit a flushed and flustered Nurse Shelly.

   "What happened in here?" she barked, taking in the scene of carnage with a gaping mouth.

   "Um … I had a nightmare," Alley replied, sheepish. She held up her damaged wrist. "Sorry, I tore out my IV. Think maybe I could have a band-aid?"

   Muttering to herself, the nurse turned to stomp out of the room. Stoker poked his head out of the bathroom, grinning. "Coast clear?"

   "You really gonna leave me here to deal with her by myself?" Alley hissed.

   "Well, I hardly think there's a choice in the matter," he replied cheerfully. "I don't expect she'd take well to a giant talking mouse in the room after visiting hours." He tossed her a wink and a playful salute before slipping out the door, laughing at the hissed "Traitor!" that followed him.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... Admittedly, this chapter took so long because I was struggling with how to realistically portray someone coming out of a near-death experience. So, it was sort of researched and sort of winging it ('cause I hate research. I'm not writing a term paper!). Anyway, I hope it doesn't come across as too half-assed or unrealistic. I also hope the dream sequence isn't too cliche. To me, it makes sense for Alley to suffer some psychological trauma after going through all that and everything. Suppressed memory trying to surface and all...


	32. Thirty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to quickly say thank-you to those who have read and left kudos (and comments) on the story. I take it to mean you're enjoying it? :)
> 
> More will hopefully be posted soon. Thanks again!

   Alley faced her father across the roll-away table, a triumphant smirk on her lips as she watched him study the board between them. "Doesn't matter how long you stare at that thing. The outcome isn't gonna change," she teased. "Just make your move before I'm as old as _you_."

   "Shhh." Charles shot her a mock-scolding glance. "I'm tryin' to concentrate, here."

   "Don't you know by now that Davidsons never say die?" Charley added from her place by the open window, paging through a tattoo catalogue.

   Alley shook her head and leaned back against the pillows, picking up her copy of US Weekly. "Well, when you're ready to admit your inevitable defeat, I'll just be here, catching up on celebrity gossip." She made a great show of opening the magazine and burying her nose in its pages, grinning at her father's snort of laughter.

   This was how Chex found them a minute later, as she hopped into the hospital room with a buoyant, "Honey, I'm home!" and a great armload of colorful balloons. "Ooo, who's the hottie? New boyfriend?"

   The cousins dissolved into laughter at Charles's expression.

   "This is Charles Davidson. _My father_ ," Alley emphasized. "Dad, this is Chex, one of the friends I was telling you about."

   "Nice to meet you." He held out a hand to shake.

   "Same. Oh, and this is my—" Chex stopped mid-sentence as she glanced behind her, only to find the doorway empty. She rolled her eyes and plopped the balloons—which were tied to the paw of a white plush bear—on the bedside table. "'Scuse me a sec." She bounced back to the door and peered around the frame. "Get in here, you weenie!" She reached around to grab someone by the arm and yank him into the room. Chris offered a sheepish smile to Alley's startled expression and a polite nod to her father and Charley. "Hey. How you doing?"

   "Hey, Chris. Long time no see," Alley replied with a hesitant smile of her own, feeling as awkward as he looked. "Thanks for coming to visit."

   "We'd have come sooner, but nobody outside of family was allowed to see you until now," Chex explained. She pulled up a second chair and perched on the arm, until Chris calmly pushed her off and into its padded vinyl seat, instead.

   "Playing chess?" he asked, noting the game board on the table.

   "Yep. And totally whooping Dad's butt."

   "You haven't won yet," Charles reminded her.

   "Because _you_ keep refusing to make the death march and accept defeat!" Alley threw a captured pawn at him.

   Chris studied the board for a second. Then, he calmly reached down, slid a rook over three spaces to capture the knight Alley had cornered the enemy queen with … leaving it wide open to take her king and end the game. "I think that's a checkmate," he announced, handing the knight to a grinning Charles.

   Alley's jaw dropped. She studied the board, looking for a new move, only to realize there was nowhere for her to go. "Wh-what just happened?" she sputtered, and her father laughed.

   "Thems the breaks, kid. Better luck next time."

   "You could have made that move the entire time!" she accused.

   He shrugged, swiping his pile of captured chess pieces into their box. "Yeah, but you looked so pleased with yourself I couldn't bear to disappoint you." He caught the second chess piece she hurled at him. "Now, now. Don't be a sore loser," he teased.

   Alley sat back and crossed her arms, attempting to pout despite the grin twitching around her lips. "You so owe me a rematch."

   "Anytime, kid." He reached to playfully ruffle her hair before standing to stretch the kinks out of his back. "But another day, yeah? Gotta go find your mom. She should've finished that work call by now."

   "What about _your_ work?" Charley wanted to know. "Is the shop okay, you leaving it alone for so long?"

   "Sure! I check in now and then. Bob's handling things fine."

   "Bob." Alley screwed up her face. "You mean the Bob who insists I call him uncle, and never takes off his helmet 'cause he's afraid the aliens will steal his brain?"

   Charles grinned. "That's the one."

   "Guy must've drank too much shoe polish as a kid," Alley muttered, rolling her eyes and earning a snicker from her cousin.

   "Ah, stop it. He's harmless." Her dad grinned and tapped his temple. "Sure, not the brightest bulb in the closet, but he knows his bikes and he's an excellent guard dog. There ain't anyone I trust more to watch things while I'm gone. And Jim and Beanie are there to help him out. A week or two ain't gonna kill my business. 'Sides, yer mom's been bugging me to take her on a vacation, anyway."

   "I'm sure visiting her comatose daughter in the hospital is _just_ what she had in mind," Alley deadpanned, and her dad winked before heading for the lobby to track down his wife.

   "You never told me your dad's such a babe," Chex teased, earning a disgusted glance from Alley and a muffled snort from Charley.

   "Chex! _Ew_."

   She laughed. "What? He is! And he reminds me of someone." She considered a moment, then snapped her fingers as her face brightened. "Stoker!" she crowed. "He _totally_ reminds me of Stoker!"

   Alley raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Are you sure _you_ haven't been drinking shoe polish?"

   Chex laughed. "I'm serious! Their personalities are identical! Charley, don't you think so?"

   "Hmmm…" The mechanic put down her magazine and slid her chair closer to the bed. "Come to think of it, their personalities _are_ pretty similar, aren't they?"

   "I know, right?" Chex leaned in, eyes sparkling. "The way Alley and her dad tease each other…"

   Charley nodded, a smirk sliding across her lips. "Yeah. That kind of playful banter goes on between her and Stoker _all_ the time. Well … with a whole lot more flirting, of course."

   "I do _not_ flirt with Stoker!" Alley protested, rolling up her magazine to swat each of them in turn.

   "Well, they do say some girls unconsciously look for potential mates who're like their dads, right?" Chex was the very picture of innocence.

   Charley nodded. "This is true," she replied solemnly.

   Alley's eyes narrowed. "Hey. You sayin' I've got daddy issues?" she mock-growled, swatting at them again.

   Laughing, Chex dodged the blow. "Hey, if the shoe fits…" She glanced at her brother. "What do _you_ think?"

   Chris frowned and shrugged. "I thought she was into that other rodent guy. She get tired of him already?" he mumbled, then jumped and yelped when Chex delivered a punch to his leg.

   "Don't be an ass," she hissed. He mumbled a short apology and looked away.

   Awkward silence ensued, stretching out for a long, uncomfortable moment, until Chex clapped her hands sharply. "So!" she announced, a bit more loudly than necessary. "How long you in for? Do we need to plan a rescue operation to spring you?"

   Alley gratefully pounced on the subject change. "Doc said he's keeping me 'til Friday, to make sure the worst wounds are healing up okay. I think I'm getting the stitches out of my arm, but the side is still pretty messed up."

   "Did you _really_ get bit by a shark?" Chex sounded way too impressed.

   "That seems to be the general consensus." Alley wasn't particularly thrilled to be reminded of it. "But the official story is I got hurt when the building collapsed. Just in case anyone asks."

   "Don't worry, the guys gave me the rundown." Chex saluted. "Really sucks that you almost died, though. Did you mess something up?"

   "Nobody messed anything up," Charley quickly cut in. "Technically, everything went off without a hitch. Only it didn't." She scratched her head, pulling a face. "We're still trying to figure out what went wrong. Alley's suffering amnesia, unfortunately, so until she can remember what went down, we'll just have to piece together bits and pieces as we find them."

   "Dude. Harsh." Chex wrinkled her nose.

   "She shouldn't have been involved with this in the first place," Chris muttered. "She could have died! What were you thinking, forcing her to go into that place all by herself?"

   "Nobody _forced_ me," Alley denied. She considered a moment. "Well, okay, there _was_ a lot of begging and coercion involved…" She shot her cousin a wry glance. "But in the end, I'm the one who agreed. After all, it was a chance to get the Plutarkians off the planet for good! Would _you_ have refused to help?"

   "You're not a superhero," he mumbled, face flushed. "This isn't some video game. It's real life, and there's no reset button if you lose yours."

   "Wow, waxing poetic much?" Chex teased. She gave him another light punch. "Lighten up, Spaz. She's alive and Limburger's gone and as soon as she's outta here we are _so_ gonna throw a major party to celebrate!"

   He rolled his eyes. "As if you need an excuse."

   She just grinned and shrugged.

   "We should get going." Chris glanced at the clock on the wall. "I've got a class in an hour. Don't you have afternoon classes, too?"

   "Yeah, I guess." Chex pulled a sour face. "But the professor is so _boring_. It's like listening to a robot talk, and he's not sayin' anything I don't already know. I'm so dropping his course next semester."

   "I guess I can kiss _my_ ever getting back into that school goodbye," Alley lamented. "No way will my records get fixed _now_."

   "Maybe my dad can do something, and if not, it's not like you can't retake all the tests and stuff and apply next year," Chex reminded her. "I'll put in a good word for you. And so will Chris. _Right_ , Chris?" She fixed a hard stare on her brother.

   "Yeah, sure. I'll talk to Dad about it." He gave a noncommittal shrug. "We really gotta go now. I have to grab my books and stuff from the dorm before class." He glanced at Alley as he turned to leave. "I'm glad you're okay, Alley. I'm real sorry this happened to you. Hope you'll feel better." He sounded genuinely sympathetic, and she offered a weak smile and wave as the twins left the room.

   Charley watched the doorway for another moment, a frown on her face.

   "What's with that look?" Alley asked.

   "I dunno. Just … how much does he know of what's going on?"

   "You mean with the plan and all?" She shrugged. "Uh, I guess Chex knew what was happening, but I don't know how much she would have told him. As you can see, he's not exactly thrilled with the idea of alien invasion and all."

   "Enough that he might jeopardize the mission?"

   She gaped at her cousin. "Why would he do something like that? He'd stand to benefit from Limburger's disappearance as much as anyone! With the Plutarkians gone, the university would be safe. His entire future is built around that school. Why would he sabotage himself?"

   Charley sighed. "I guess it would be kind of stupid, but jealousy can make people do stupid things, and it's pretty obvious he's not thrilled with the idea of you and Throttle hooking up."

   "Which, if memory serves, hasn't actually happened _anyway._ And I still don't think Chris had anything to do with it, jealousy or no. Petty revenge doesn't strike me as his style."

   "Guess it's all just speculation until we can get those memories unlocked in your head." Charley stood and stretched. "Anyway. I gotta head back to the garage a bit. Make sure those lunkheads didn't blow anything up, and they'll probably be hungry. I'll stop by again later, okay?"

   "If you pass my parents on the way out, ask them to pick me up a sandwich from a cafe or something. If I have to shovel down one more spoonful of hospital tapioca pudding, I'm gonna puke."

   The mechanic laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

   As promised, Charley returned later that day. And she brought company.

   Alley was slowly roused from sleep by the unnerving sensation of being watched. She shifted and forced one eye open to find her bedside surrounded by four large, furry bodies. She yelped in surprise, sitting up quickly as sleep fled her system on a rush of adrenaline. "Jiminy Christmas, don't sneak up like that!" she hissed, glancing at the closed door. "How'd you get in here?"

   "Magic," Stoker quipped.

   "I told you the guys weren't gonna be happy until they saw for themselves you were okay," Charley added. "I figured it'd be better for everyone if I escorted them in myself."

   "What about Sergeant Shelly?"

   "Don't worry about her. She won't be making rounds for awhile. There's still time before visiting hours end."

   "Good thing you missed my parents. Don't think they'd be thrilled to meet the real reason why their daughter almost died." Noticing their guilty expressions, Alley hastened to add, "I-I mean with the war and all! And the Plutarkians and the invasion. If they ran into you, we'd have to tell them all about _why_ you're here and how I really got hurt and I doubt my parents can handle _that_ much reality in a single shot."

   Throttle leaned closer, reached out to lay a hand against the blanket covering her legs, as if to assure himself that she was really there. "So, how're you feelin'?" he asked, voice soft.

   "Well, you know." She offered a weak smile. "Been better, I guess. The bed's lumpy, the food is cardboard, and the TV airs nothing but soap operas. On the plus side, at least I'm not hooked up to that monitor anymore. I was starting to feel like a dead battery. I just wish they'd take me off this thing." She raised her hand, grimacing at the reattached IV needle.

   "When're they turnin' ya loose?" Vinnie wanted to know. "We need ta help bust you out? We could totally plan a rescue, sneak in and—What's so funny all the sudden?" He pouted at the two women who had, for some mysterious reason, abruptly dissolved into helpless laughter.

   "You wanna talk identical personalities? You're dating the male version of _Chex_!" Alley managed around her giggles.

   Charley swatted playfully at her. "Hey, at least she isn't my _mother_!"

   When Alley would have thrown a pillow at her, she found it being neatly plucked from her hands by Stoker's tail. "You ladies care to explain yourselves before you start a riot?" He asked, amused, with one eyebrow raised.

   "Nope!" Alley finally managed to get her hilarity under control, barely able to maintain a straight face.

   But Charley tossed Stoker a wicked grin. "Oh, me 'n Chex were comparing how similar you are to Uncle Chuck," she began innocently, easily stepping aside when Alley swiped at her. "Chex brought up a good point, how girls tend to look for their dads in potentia- _whoof_!"

   Alley smirked as the second pillow dropped from Charley's face. "Keep it up, big mouth. I got lotsa stories to tell on _you_ ," she threatened.

   "Yeah?" Charley grinned and crossed her arms. "Like what?"

   "Hmmm…" Alley tapped her chin. "How about the reason why you don't like bananas? Or, I know! Did you ever tell them how you got your tattoo?"

   She was gratified to see Charley's eyes widen in sudden panic, even as Vinnie yelped, "She's got a _tattoo_?"

   "She hasn't shown you yet?" She laughed evilly, "Well, lemme tell you, it sure is a great stor _mmmph_!" She found her mouth covered by Charley's hand.

  "Okay, okay. You made your point," the redhead muttered, scowling. "Not one more word!"

   "Awww, c'mon, Charley-girl! Tell us about the tattoo!" Vinnie whined.

   She huffed. "You see what you did? Now he'll never shut up about it," she complained as Alley laughed at her.

   "We've seen her in a bathing suit before, right?" Modo whispered to Throttle. "I didn't see no tattoo. Did you?"

   Throttle shook his head, rubbing his chin. "Must be in a pretty well-hidden spot," he replied, waggling his eyebrows with a chuckle.

   Alley buried her face against her knee to stifle the giggles.

   "C'mon, Charley-girl! Won't you at least let _me_ see it?" Vinnie pleaded.

   "It's nothing worth looking at," she muttered, red-faced. "Just … let's change the subject, okay?" When he would have protested again, she fixed him with a quelling glare. " _Drop. It._ "

   Deeming it wiser to listen (for a change), the white mouse pouted and plopped into one of the chairs beside the bed. "So," he began, turning his attention to Alley. "You realize you forgot the chum, right?"

   Alley blinked at him. "Ex-excuse me?"

   "Sure! Remember when we were talkin' awhile back? An' you said it'd be fun to dunk you in chum and drop you in a shark tank?" He grinned at her. "You totally forgot the chum part!"

   Alley gaped at him as the rest of the party dissolved into snickers. "Oh, that's swell," she huffed, punching him in the arm (and earning nothing but sore knuckles for the effort). "I almost died, and you're cracking jokes about it! That shark tried to eat me alive, you know."

   "Now, honey, you can hardly blame the shark for that one." Stoker leaned in to meet her gaze, waggling his eyebrows with an impish grin. "I've been tempted to take a nibble myself a time or two."

   "Yeah, an' one of us already did," Modo added, nudging Throttle in the side. The golden mouse looked decidedly unamused at the reminder.

   Alley's face turned red as the laughter increased. "I think you can all leave now," she growled. "Your welcome is officially worn out."

   "Aw, don't be that way, Alley-girl. We're just joshin' ya," Modo protested. "We were all worried. Ya were next to dead when Stoke pulled ya outta the drink an' we ain't seen hide nor hair o' the stink fish since."

   "Yeah, we're worried he might come back 'n try to finish the job," Vinnie put in.

   Alley blinked at him. "Thanks, Vin. That makes me feel _lots_ better," she deadpanned.

   He smacked a hand to his forehead. "You know that ain't how I meant it!"

   She had to grin at his expression. "Charley thinks he's shark bait. You guys don't agree?" She glanced around the room.

   "It's a nice thought," Throttle admitted with a sigh. "But wishful thinkin' doesn't win wars."

   She looked down at her hands, idly picking at the gauze still wrapping her fingers. "I'm really sorry the plan didn't work, guys," she said softly. "Whatever happened, it must have been my fault somehow."

   "We don't know that," Charley protested.

   "Exactly. We don't know. And until my brain gets sorted, we never will. But something had to have happened to tip Limburger off, and since I was the only person in that room who knew what those plans really were…"

   "Which reminds me." Charley frowned, directing her attention to the guys. "Did any of you happen to stumble across said plans while searching the rubble? That they appear to be missing has me more than a little worried."

  "How come?" Vinnie asked. "They weren't the real thing."

   "Oh, they were real, right enough." Her smile was grim. "A little tinkering here and there, and Limburger has himself a weapon powerful enough to destroy an entire _planet_. You don't think them vanishing off the face of _this_ one might be a cause for concern?"

   There was a marked silence.

   "Sweet Mother Mars," Throttle breathed. "If the wrong people got their hands on those specs…"

   "Relax, rookie," Stoker soothed. "It'd take more than your everyday hoodlum to even get a grasp on what they're lookin' at. I wrote 'em in Martian, to start with. It's far more likely they got washed away or destroyed when the tower collapsed."

   "All the more reason why you need to pick Alley's brain. So we know for sure," the golden mouse argued.

   "Hey, hey! There will be no _brain picking_ of any sort, thanks." Alley glared at him.

   He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

   Stoker turned to the blonde. "So, whaddaya say? You up for a little traipse through your mind tonight?"

   She hesitated.

   "Might help keep those nightmares at bay, too."

   "She's been having nightmares?" Charley asked, surprised.

   "Just the one!" Alley protested, blushing.

   "Suppressed memories, most like. If I can draw those memories out, it might keep another one from occurring," Stoker pointed out.

   "Or make 'em worse," she grumbled.

   "Is this the right place for a mind walk?" Modo asked with a concerned frown. "I mean, it's kind've a slow process, ain't it? An' someone could walk in and see what we're up to…"

   "We can stand guard!" Vinnie volunteered.

   "Actually, I work better alone." Stoker waved him off. "No offense, but you punks'll help more by gettin' your tails outta here. I need to concentrate, an' I can't do that with you breathin' down my neck."

   "You sure? If you get walked in on…"

   "We'll deal with that if it happens. But it'll go faster if I can do this by myself."

   "Well, okay, Coach. If you say so." Modo dragged a chair around and wedged it under the door, effectively jamming it shut. "Ain't as good as a lock, but it should give ya some warnin' if someone comes knockin'."

   "That's brilliant. But how're you supposed to get out?" Alley asked dryly.

   "Same way we got in." Charley grinned and slid the window open, letting the cool evening breeze wash into the room.

   "Seriously? We're six stories up!" Alley yelped.

   "Pfft. Like that's ever stopped us before," Vinnie scoffed as he hopped onto the sill, snagged Charley with his tail to bring her up with him. She easily climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms and legs around his body as he grinned and snapped off a quick salute. When he dropped off the ledge, Alley nearly scrambled after them, just to make sure they hadn't splattered all over the street.

   "Relax. They're fine," Throttle told her, chuckling at her expression. "Take care, Alley-girl."

   "Yeah. Thanks for stopping by, guys."

   Throttle and Modo disappeared out the window, and Stoker turned to her with a grin and a playful wink. "Alone at last."

   She rolled her eyes. "No jokes. There isn't a lot of time before someone comes barging in here. You'd better get started. And those hands had _better_ stay where I can see them," she warned.

   He chuckled as he seated himself on the bed beside her. "I promise to behave. You sure you're ready to do this?"

   "As I'll ever be," she sighed, and attempted to get comfortable as he leaned in and pressed his hands to either side of her face. She nervously waited, trying hard not to think of _another_ time when she'd been in a similar position, for an entirely different reason. No need to replay _those_ particular memories for Stoker's viewing pleasure.

   Determination steeled her nerves, and she nodded and closed her eyes. "Okay, then, Coach. Let's get this over with."

 


	33. Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry for the long delay in getting this posted. This chapter was a bitch to write. I knew how I wanted it to go but just couldn't seem to get the words out the way I imagined. Finally went back and rewrote most of it, and now I'm satisfied. I also had set it aside for a few weeks, needing to just step back and take a break from it for a bit to work on other things. Your patience is much appreciated.

   "H-hold on a sec."

   Stoker paused, the fringes of Alley's uncertainty tickling along his senses. He leaned back a bit to study her expression. "Having second thoughts?"

   "No." She shook her head. "But, how does this … mind-walk thing work, exactly? Is it like what Throttle did when we first met and he showed me his memories?"

   Stoker considered. How did one go about explaining something that was as natural as breathing? "There's a bit more to it than that," he began slowly. "Projectin' yer own memories into another person's mind is pretty basic. Every mouse learns to do that from birth. But somethin' like takin' a mental stroll through someone _else's_ memories is a little more advanced. Needs more concentration and focus so you don't go wanderin' into places you ain't invited, and a strong sense of trust from the other party. Close friends and relations, lovers and mates are usually the ones who share memories intimately, but anyone with a psychic capacity can learn to do it."

   "So how will this work on _me_? I'm not psychic," Alley pointed out.

   "Sure you are!" He chuckled at her dubious expression. "Human beings are also born with the natural capacity for psychic interaction. Just, most of the time it's locked away in those unused parts of their brains, with no knowledge on how to access it. Sometimes a human is born with the abilities unlocked, but it's very rare."

   "So, all those quack psychics on the hotlines and infomercials are _real_?" she asked, wide-eyed.

   He snorted. "Nah. They're still quacks. Thing about ESP is it generally don't got anything to do with precognition, like you humans believe. Even us mice don't have _that_ ability." He paused a moment, thoughtful. "Well," he amended, "most of us, anyhow. Every once in awhile, a rare mouse is born with the gift of premonition. Only happens once every couple of generations or so. They're called Seers, an' they're treated on the same level as a king, almost on par with a god."

   "So, they're more powerful than your government?"

   He shook his head, smile grim. "Only in appearance. The Seer is more of a … I guess you can just call him a puppet. To the people, he's some kind of a holy deity, but behind the scenes, the government's pullin' the strings. Didn't used to be that way, but now…" He offered a one-shouldered shrug. "He's raised in seclusion, brainwashed into believin' what the powers-that-be want him to believe. If he goes out into public, he's kept away from the 'unwashed masses', very little social interaction with anyone aside from the monks an' a few select others he's allowed to see. As a result, he ain't got great people skills. He's raised to believe he's above the laws and the people he's supposed to protect with his 'visions', an' that's exactly how he acts."

   "Is there a Seer on Mars, right now?" The way he talked sure made it _seem_ like there was.

   Stoker gave a short nod. "But we're gettin' off-track here," he added. "Time's wastin'. We should get started."

   "Oh. Right." Alley looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but something in his shuttered expression made her reconsider. "So, um, this mind-walking thing. You've done it before, right? On a _human_ , I mean."

   He raised his gaze toward the ceiling. "Well…"

   "Stoker!" She scowled at him. "Not that I'm familiar with the ins and outs of Martian physiology, but I'm _pretty_ sure there'd be a big difference in brain chemistry! What if I end up like Kevin Bacon in _Stir of Echoes_ or something?"

   He blinked. "Who in what?"

   "I'm not gonna start talking to dead people, am I?" she elaborated.

   He barked a laugh. Really, these earthens and their silly superstitions and beliefs of the afterlife. "Where I come from, dead people stay dead an' we don't make a habit of holdin' heart-to-hearts with 'em," he assured her. He reached to playfully ruffle her hair. "Even the Seer is unable to commune with the afterlife. That door is closed to everyone. No matter how psychic they might be."

   Satisfied, she nodded. "And getting back to my original question, do you have any idea what you're actually doing?"

   "Of course I do!" He waved off her concerns, slightly wounded by her doubt in his abilities. He was no greenhorn! "I never said I ain't been inside a human mind before," he sniffed. "There was a time I had to do a bit of mind alterin' on some folk. I learned to map out the average human brain real quick. Ain't that much to 'em, really." He flashed a smirk. "No offense."

   "I'm sure." She pursed her lips, but she had that curious gleam in her eye again. "Why'd you have to wipe their minds? Was it a recent thing?" Her eyes widened. " _Please_ tell me you didn't _actually_ track down Chex's alien-hunting club. She'll rip you a new one if she finds out!"

   Stoker guffawed, tickled by the idea of Chex trying to rip him _anything_. "Naw! This happened way back. Would've been … late-sixties in earthen years, I think. Or beginnin' of the seventies…?" He rubbed his chin as a sly grin twitched at his mouth. "I was takin' a group of young Fighters out for a test flight in one of the few remaining ships we'd … ah … _confiscated_ from the army. Thought it'd be useful to teach the punks to fly the thing, so I let one of 'em take the wheel for awhile. Guess I should've been payin' more attention. Next thing I know, alarms are goin' off and we're headin' straight down into the middle of a field on earth. Wouldn't've been a problem, 'cept the field was full of people, all gathered together. Tents pitched and people dancin' and partyin'. Some kinda music festival, or somethin'. There was a huge stage set up. Some pretty good acts goin' on, too. Always did love a good rock concert."

   Alley gaped at him, her amusement fading to shock. "And did this field happen to be located somewhere in the vicinity of New York?" she asked, voice carefully blank.

   "Hmmm." Stoker pretended to think for a moment before he nodded, attempting to look serious. "Yep, pretty sure we were on the eastern side of the States."

   She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Any chance this festival you landed in might've been called _Woodstock_?"

   He snapped his fingers, the grin breaking free. "That's it! Knew it had a name. Surprised you heard of it, though. It was way before your time," he teased.

   A disbelieving laugh bubbled from her throat. "Stoker. You're talking about one of the most infamous rock festivals in the _history_ of rock festivals. _Everyone_ has heard of Woodstock. They might not have heard of the bands who _played_ in Woodstock, but they've heard of Woodstock."

   "Wow. That famous, huh?" He rubbed his chin, eyes twinkling.

   She huffed and punched him lightly in the arm. "Oh, stop messing with me. You _totally_ know what I'm talking about."

   He chuckled and winked. "Maybe a little."

   Alley shook her head, and he could sense her growing confusion. "There were four-hundred-thousand people at that festival! Reporters and security and—How the hell is this not _recorded_ somewhere? Did you wipe every single person in attendance?"

   "Naw." He chuckled. "There were enough hallucinatory narcotics bein' passed around that most folk probably just wrote us off as a bad trip. But you're right about the reporters; I had to call down a second team to do some damage control. Scrubbed a few minds, sought out and destroyed any footage before it could get leaked to the media. It was a lot easier back then, of course. None of this instant video streaming crap."

   "Still. In the middle of a mob like that…"

   "Weeell…" He wagged a hand side-to-side. "I say 'middle of', but it was really more along the fringe edges. Most of the reporting crews were much deeper into the crowd, closer to the stage where the action was. We only had to deal with maybe a dozen or so people who weren't too stoned or drunk to realize what was goin' on. And if we happened to miss anyone, well … after a party like that, who'd believe 'em?"

   Alley leveled him with a deadpan stare. "You guys are totally the reason why Area 51 even _exists_ , aren't you?"

   His hearty laughter nearly rattled the windows. "You believe in that tripe?" he teased.

   "After meeting _you_ lot, Peter Pan and the Tooth Fairy could fly right past that window and it wouldn't shock me in the least."

   Stoker did his best to quell his grin. "Alright, missy. Enough dilly-dallyin'." He tapped a non-existent watch. "We're on a schedule, remember?"

   She sighed. "Okay, okay. Well, you're the expert here. Start experting."

   "For starters, lay back." He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back into the pillows, picked up the controller to lower the bed to less of an incline. "Always a good idea to get comfortable. When the mind's otherwise occupied, it ain't thinkin' about what the body's doin'. Might be a bit of a surprise to come back an' find ourselves on the floor or somethin'." He swung his booted feet onto the bed so he was sprawled next to her on his side, facing her. He draped an arm over her waist, grinning at her wide-eyed expression. "Comfy?" he teased.

   She scowled at him and his sharp ears easily picked up the sudden increase of her pulse as a dull flush crept up her face. "No funny business," she grumbled, trying to hide her discomfiture at his too-close proximity.

   "Aw, now, do you really think I'd put a move on you at a time like this?" he teased, trying to ease her embarrassment. When she didn't immediately respond, he pinched her side. "Yer thinkin' way too hard about that answer," he growled, earning a muffled giggle. She relaxed, just a bit, and he pulled himself closer, leaning over her. "Close your eyes," he instructed.

   She obeyed, and he leaned in to press the tips of his antenna to her temples. He felt her surprise, caught the wisp of a thought ( _warm!_ ) as she instinctively braced for his intrusion.

   "Relax. If you resist, this ain't gonna work," he murmured into her ear.

   "I-I'm not _trying_ to."

   "Just take deep breaths, honey. Like you're fallin' asleep."

   "Easier said than done," she mumbled, but tried anyway. He felt her tense muscles slowly relax as her mind began to open, and carefully slipped into her subconscious. He knew the moment she realized he was there, felt her surprise. He picked up on her recollection of how it had been when Throttle had bulldozed his way into her brain, giving her no chance to prepare herself for the outpouring of memories.

   " _That punk always was too impatient,"_ Stoker told her, amused. " _He ain't got the genteel touch. This doesn't have to be intrusive. You just gotta know what you're doin'."_

   " _Am I hearing your thoughts?"_ she asked, unnerved.

   " _Yep. And I can hear yours."_

   " _I can't see you, though. I can't see anything, really."_

   " _You're tryin' to look with your eyes. I ain't really here, in the physical sense. But I'm with you. You ready?"_

   " _As I'll ever be."_

   " _Good. Easiest way to do this, we'll take a literal stroll down memory lane. Think of the last clear memory you have before the tower."_

   He waited as she shifted through the jumbled memories in her mind. Caught flashes of thought as she sorted through them. The barbeque… The weekend following… The rooftop and Throttle, and himself holding her as she cried into his chest. He tactfully ignored her flare of chagrin from that particular recollection. " _Start from the following morning,"_ he instructed gently. " _You woke up and…?"_

   He concentrated, and the darkness faded as a picture began to form, a memory blooming in their shared mind's eye like a scene unfolding on a movie screen. " _Wh-what's going on?"_ Alley yelped.

   " _Relax, honey. Just a little visual aid,"_ he assured. " _It'll help you recall if you can 'see' what you're doin'."_

   " _Why am I in bed?"_

   " _Best to start from the beginnin'. This is the morning it all went down."_

   " _Why can't I see you?"_

   " _I'm just the outside observer. These're_ your _memories. I'll see what you see, but I can't interact or change anything. Neither can you, for that matter. All this already happened, an' it ain't real. Just remember that."_

   " _So, it's kind of like … lucid dreaming?"_

   " _Something like that,"_ he agreed.

   " _Given the dreams I've had lately, I'm not so sure I'm ready for another one,"_ she grumbled, before lapsing into silence.

   It was strange, seeing things through Alley's eyes, feeling what she'd felt. Like the panic that instantly woke her up when she blearily glanced at her alarm clock and saw the time. Stoker gave a mental wince as she leaped out of bed and scrambled to get ready for the day. He'd been the one to turn off her alarm, believing she needed the sleep. How was he supposed to know she'd need so much extra time just to change clothes? Every other female in his acquaintance never seemed to need more than a few minutes to gussy up. Then again, every other female in his acquaintance never gussied up the way Alley did. He decided that, in the interest of self-preservation, it'd be prudent to not mention his slight lapse of judgment to Alley. _Ever_.

   He waited patiently as the memories continued, was forced to remind himself with some trepidation that they were _not_ actually in her bus, navigating at a recklessly breakneck pace through Chicago traffic. How she'd managed to make it to the tower in one piece was both scary _and_ impressive, especially in that ridiculous deathtrap of a vehicle, but made it she did. And the next time he heard her complain about _their_ driving, boy, was he gonna have some words!

   He kept a sharp eye out as they entered the tower, searching for anything that seemed out of place. Strange glances cast her way from other people; maybe a few suspicious-looking pedestrians lurking off to the side. Things that Alley might have unconsciously noticed without really _noticing_. But aside from the odd look the receptionist gave her (which he half-suspected might've been pity) nobody else caught his attention. And he was hard-pressed to contain his impatience as they headed for the elevator. He wanted to tell her to stop acting so impressed with the place. This was enemy territory, damn it, she wasn't supposed to be so wowed by it! Honestly, though, in the few times he'd actually been inside the tower, he'd been too busy looking for the fastest way to topple it over to really take the time to appreciate the decor. Now that he was seeing it from a different perspective, he was forced to grudgingly concede that the lobby was a dazzling sight.

   " _I don't think I like this part."_ Alley's growing anxiety felt like butterfly wings beating against his senses; he could feel her increasing heart rate as if it was his own. They'd made it into the lift and now rose through the glass shaft at an aggravatingly slow pace, and he had to admit, when it happened, that the sudden transition from cinderblock walls to open water was startling. It didn't seem like anything to be so worried over, though. It was kind of pretty, actually, with the colorful fish and all. And besides, hadn't Alley grown up playing in the ocean? Surely _this_ wasn't what was making her so nervous.

   " _It isn't,"_ she muttered, catching his thoughts. " _Not so thrilled about_ that _, though."_

   And "that" would be the large tiger shark swimming lazily past the lift. Stoker felt his own heart give a startled lurch when twin rows of teeth skimmed past his nose, despite the fact that he _knew_ they weren't really there. " _I think it gets worse,"_ his companion added miserably, as she huddled against the wall.

   If by "worse" she meant "mind-numbingly dull", she wasn't wrong. The aquarium vanished soon enough and they were again surrounded by gray brick. Stoker waited hopefully when Alley hopped to her feet and started punching buttons, clearly aiming to get off on the next floor. " _It didn't work. The code locked me in,"_ she said dully. Although she leaned against the wall, the very picture of boredom, her emotions continued to wind tighter and tighter, a heavy pressure building behind Stoker's eyes until he thought _he_ might start screaming.

   He figured out the reason a few moments later when the walls vanished again and he found himself in the middle of a dark, murky abyss of an ocean. He recognized the scene well enough, and his temper began to boil, settling into a slow simmer in his gut when the first of the lean, pale shapes slipped into view. When the gigantic Great White made its appearance, causing Alley to scramble in panic to the far side of the lift, Stoker swore that if Limburger wasn't already dead, he was gonna _rip him to shreds_ the next time they ran into each other.

   " _I don't wanna do this. Let's stop this, Stoker. Please?"_ Alley's voice was almost a whine, and he could feel her resisting, struggling to pull away, both mentally and physically. He held on, trying to soothe her roiling emotions.

   " _You need to calm down, honey. If you break the connection too quick you might damage us both,"_ he tried to warn, but her terror sat like a bad taste on his tongue, sharp and bitter. So he felt only momentary guilt when he reached psychic tendrils toward her and wrapped them about her psyche, cushioning her mind and dulling the fear. There was a moment of startled silence. Then, " _Wh-what did you just_ do _?"_

   It would take too long to explain, and he wasn't really sure how to do so in a manner that wouldn't set her off. Honestly, what he'd just done was borderline taboo. Normally, he would have _never_ manipulated her emotions like that, not without asking permission first. But he'd been losing his connection and her struggle was becoming dangerous for the both of them. Last thing he wanted was for her to turn either of them into a drooling vegetable by pulling out too quick.

   " _Stoker?"_ Her tone held a note of suspicion.

   " _You were startin' to panic, so I just made a few minor adjustments. You should be able to get through this now. Think of it as somethin' like a mental security blanket."_

   Her disgust was clear. " _I'm not a toddler!"_

   He chuckled. " _Or the psychic equivalent of a stiff drink,"_ he amended.

   Another moment of silence. Then, with a touch of playfulness, " _Hey, now. You tryin' to get me drunk?"_

   He snorted, unable to quell his surprise at her response fast enough, and she laughed at him. " _Watch it, missy, or I won't be held accountable for my actions,"_ he finally growled.

   " _Don't get testy,"_ she teased. " _Oh, looks like the ride's over! About time!"_

   Indeed, the doors were sliding open and Alley scrambled to escape the lift, yelping when the blast of frigid air hit her body. " _I remember that. It felt like strolling through Antarctica in a bathing suit. I'm surprised I didn't die of hypothermia way before whatever happened … happened,"_ she commented.

   Stoker's little trick had worked; she was definitely calmer now, with only a mild air of tension, even anticipation. Without the fear to compel her reluctance, she seemed as anxious as he was to get to the bottom of her near-death experience.

   They made it into the office without mishap, and Stoker suppressed an instinctive snarl when he laid eyes on Limburger, sitting like a bloated toad behind his ridiculously expansive desk. He listened carefully as the stinkfish and Alley bartered, snorted when Limburger attempted to coerce her into working for him. Of course the smelly bastard wouldn't let her go so easily. Luckily, the phone call distracted him enough to send Alley back out the door, unscathed.

   " _So who was Miss Johnson?"_ Stoker muttered to himself.

   " _Beats me. An associate of Limburger?"_

   " _Urgent phone call, huh? Seems to me this mysterious Miss Johnson might be the cause of the failure,"_ he growled, anger rising.

   " _You think she ratted me out?"_

   " _Can't really think of any other explanation."_

   " _But, how would she even know? I don't know anyone by the name of Johnson. And besides, he let me go,"_ she pointed out.

 _"_ _Except he didn't."_ Stoker couldn't hold back his snarl this time when two very large men made their sudden appearance from nowhere.

   " _Oh, well shit,"_ Alley huffed as they proceeded to grab and hold her.

   " _Well._ That _explains what happened to the tracker."_ Stoker sighed as he watched a thug drop Alley's necklace into the elevator and send it on its way. That was a switch, Limburger hiring goons with actual brains this time around. He must've been getting desperate.

   " _At least I didn't go without a fight,"_ Alley grumbled, and Stoker couldn't help being just a little impressed as she fought like a wildcat to free herself. To no avail, of course, but he was proud of her just the same.

   " _Remind me never to get on your bad side. Again,"_ he teased.

   " _Oh, shut up."_

   They fell into silence as Limburger began to snarl and threaten, and when Karbunkle made his appearance, Stoker sighed, " _Well, the cat's definitely out of the bag_ now _."_

   " _He was gonna gonna build that machine and destroy Mars?"_ Alley was beyond horrified, despite Stoker's mental sedative. " _But, like, wouldn't that throw the entire_ galaxy _out of whack? You can't just … destroy an entire_ planet _and not expect repercussions for the rest of them! Can you?"_

   Stoker swore fluently in Martian, his own concern spiking. His worst fears were being realized; now it was _definitely_ imperative to find out what had happened to those blueprints!

 _"_ _Wait, what did he mean to choose my friends wisely? I still don't get that,"_ Alley mumbled, confused and upset. Stoker had no time to voice his own growing suspicions. The next few moments happened so fast they were nearly a blur, as if Alley'd had no time to process them.

   The two opponents lunged over the desk, Limburger's hand slapping down on a red button as Alley's closed over the blueprints. She fell back into a large, empty space where the floor was supposed to be and Stoker winced at her terrified shriek as the dark, frigid salt water closed over her.

   " _I remember this! I definitely remember this now!"_ she babbled through her desperate scramble for the edge of the trapdoor. Limburger's shadow loomed over her, eliciting a low growl from Stoker as the stinkfish gloated. But when they caught sight of the soaking blueprints, his growl turned into a whoop of triumph as Alley kicked out, caught the plans with her foot and dragged them beneath the surface.

   Limburger howled and Alley flinched. " _In retrospect, that probably hadn't been the most_ intelligent _move I could've made,"_ she mumbled, abashed.

   " _What're you talkin' about? You just saved Mars! Possibly the entire galaxy!"_ Stoker crowed, unable to hide the glowing pride in his voice.

   " _Yeah,"_ she agreed, suddenly shy. " _I guess I did. Go me."_ Then her emotions took a downward shift as she added, " _Ooohhh, I don't like this part."_ And he felt her mentally brace herself, cringing as Limburger gleefully pierced her bicep with an ichor-coated claw.

   " _I'll kill 'im,"_ he snarled in helpless fury. " _If that bastard's still alive, I'll murder 'im with my own hands!"_ Suddenly, _he_ was the one who wanted to pull out, to escape. He wanted to shield Alley from the terror and pain; even their mere specters brought every protective instinct roaring to the surface, but he was helpless to do anything except watch as she struggled stubbornly to live, even after the poison had taken effect, and she'd slipped beneath the water.

   " _It's okay,"_ he murmured, tightening his grasp on her fragile emotions, trying to soothe himself as much as her. " _It's almost over."_ He could recognize the light display dancing across the surface of the water as the firefight he and the rookies had unleashed when they'd crashed into the building and sent Karbunkle and the goons scrambling for cover.

   Limburger hadn't been so lucky; as soon as Stoker realized what had happened to Alley, he'd lost all sense of reason and lunged straight for the Plutarkian, plunging them both into the water. He'd used him as a shield, barreling through the circling sharks, until one of them snagged the stinkfish by the arm and carried him off. Stoker didn't know what had happened to the bastard after that; his sole focus was fixed directly on Alley, who'd floated pale and still in the water with arms extended toward him, as if seeking his help. He would never forget the way the light in her crystalline eyes had slowly faded as she'd died…

   " _We've seen enough. Let's stop this now."_

   Alley's voice was gentle, pleading, and it was all the encouragement Stoker needed to let the scene dim into blackness and slowly, carefully, untangle his psyche from hers and withdraw back into his own mind. It was a long moment before he could calm his roiling emotions. Another moment to gather the strength to open his eyes. And he found her gaze on him, blue eyes bright and glassy with unshed tears. She offered a wavering smile, as if trying to comfort _him_ despite her own fragile emotions. "Quite an experience, huh?" she whispered. "Don't think I'll be swimming in any oceans for awhile, after all that."

   Stoker shuddered. The guilt was gonna kill him _way_ before he got his hands on Limburger. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He buried his face against her neck to hide his shame and hugged her close. "What happened to you—I never should've—"

   "Hey." Alley nudged his shoulder to gain his attention. When that didn't work, she grasped his long ponytail and tugged until he lifted his face to meet her gaze. Whatever she read in his expression caused her lips to purse. "Look, I'm not gonna deny that it was scary and painful and it will be a cold day in hell before I _ever_ let you talk me into doing something like that again." She offered another faint smile. "But I don't blame _you_ for what happened. You're not clairvoyant, remember? It was a good plan, and if it wasn't for that phone call, it would have worked. So, if you gotta start blaming anyone, I'd say that Johnson bitch should be the top of the list."

   Stoker huffed a laugh. Her words were comforting, but he didn't _want_ to be comforted. After everything he'd put her through, he didn't deserve it. Alley, apparently, disagreed. Because when he opened his mouth to berate himself some more, two small hands wrapped around his muzzle, clamping it firmly shut.

   She laughed at his indignant glare, and it was only when he felt her chest quiver against his that he realized he was still practically wrapped around her, holding her _far_ more closely than could be considered proper. The fact that she hadn't called him on it (or pushed him off onto the floor) was as mystifying as it was gratifying, but he refused to read too much into it. After that ordeal, she probably needed physical contact as much as he did to ground her in reality and chase lingering horrors from her mind.

   "Honestly, Stoker." Her fingers combing lightly through his forelock made him stiffen with surprise. "Despite everything, when it really counted, you came through for me. And I remember now; when I saw you swimming to me I _knew_. Just like you somehow knew I was in trouble, I knew you were going to save me. So, we should just call it even, okay? _Thank_ _you_ for not letting me die."

   Stoker gazed at her for a few silent moments, before he abruptly dropped his face to her neck again and huffed a self-disparaging little laugh. "And here I was, tryin' so hard to behave myself," he sighed, and when she would have questioned his meaning, he lifted his head just enough to catch her words with his mouth as he pressed it softly to hers.

   She went still beneath him, shock reverberating through her body. He withdrew, watched her face carefully to gauge her reaction. He half-expected her to take a swing at his head, but she merely lay there with wide eyes and parted lips, as if trying to comprehend what had just occurred. He slowly leaned in again, hesitated just above her mouth. And when she still made no move to push him away, he dared to steal a second kiss, held it until her mouth went soft and pliant under his and the tension slowly drained from her body, accepting him. His heart kicked in his chest, but he kept tight reigns on his swelling emotion as he peppered her lips with soft kisses, delicate little sips to savor the sweetness of them. And when the faintest little whimper escaped her throat, giving voice to her pleasure, his blood quickened and roared through his ears in a heady rush.

   Perhaps _that_ was why his sharp hearing failed to pick up the telltale rattle of the door handle, the faint scrape of chair legs against linoleum flooring as someone attempted to open the door, only to find it blocked.

   He did _not_ miss the surprised, "What the _hell_?" from the other side. Neither did Alley, and the pair jerked apart with alarmed gasps. They stared at each other for a long, dazed moment before turning panic-filled gazes toward the door, just in time to witness the ruthless shove that sent the chair crashing into the wall as the large, intimidating visage of Charles Davidson filled the doorway, eyes narrowed and focused directly on them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, in regards to Stoker's story, three guesses as to who the rookies he'd crash-landed with in Woodstock were. ;)


	34. Thirty-Four

   The silence stretched out as Alley, Stoker, and Charles Davidson stared each other down, frozen in shock. Long moments ticked by before Alley finally shook off her stupor, made a subtle attempt to dig a hole into Stoker’s side with her finger, urging him to get  _ off _ . Unfortunately, he didn’t register the insistent poking, and she finally gave up with a sigh. “Well. Awkward much?” she muttered.

   Charles managed to take his eyes off Stoker long enough to shoot her a withering stare. She winced and tried on a hesitant smile. “Um, I know this seems kind of, uh, bad. But it really _isn’t_ what it looks like,” she began meekly.

   “Really.” A thick eyebrow cocked. “Because it _looks_ like my daughter is being molested by … by a… What the hell _are_ you?” The glare switched back to the mouse as Charles picked up the chair he’d shoved aside and calmly snapped off one of its wooden legs, as easily as if he’d just snapped a toothpick.

   Alley winced. Sergeant Shelly was gonna shit a brick over that one. And why did Stoker look so  _ impressed _ , damn it? This was serious! She decided that some hasty introduction might be in order, before things took a turn for the violent. “Daddy, this is Stoker. You know. Charley told you about him. He’s the guy who pulled me out of the tower and  _ saved my life _ ?”

   Charles froze, brow furrowed as he lowered his makeshift weapon. “One of Charley’s friends? He’s the one that saved you?”

   “ Yeah.” She again poked at Stoker’s side, and when that didn’t work, curled her hand into a fist and delivered a punch to his ribcage. “ _ Get. Off _ ,” she growled. He jumped, finally registered exactly where he was—resting quite comfortably between her legs—and hastily scrambled off the bed. He made a show of adjusting his vest, turned just enough to make sure Charles got a good view of the blaster strapped to his thigh.

   Alley rolled her eyes.  _ Men. _

   “Charley failed to mention that her friend was a giant … squirrel?” Her father squinted, tightened his grip on his weapon as he looked Stoker up and down.

   “Mouse, Dad. He’s a Martian mouse,” Alley sighed.

   “A … Martian…”

   “Yes. You know, from the planet Mars? He’s an alien.” She eyed her father cautiously. “Maybe you’d better, uh, sit down,” she suggested, nodding at one of the remaining chairs beside the bed. Then she smacked Stoker lightly in the arm. “And _you_! Feel free to chime in at _any_ time.”

   “Why? Yer doin’ a pretty good job of explainin’ so far,” he teased.

   Charles jumped, eyes going wide. “And it  _ talks _ ?”

   Stoker drew himself up, offended. “Yep, and I can sing an’ dance, too,” he snorted with a scowl. He jumped when Alley yanked hard on his arm fur.

   “ Kindly tone down the sarcasm,” she hissed. “Trust me, this is a lot to take in,  _ okay _ ?”

   He wilted, offered a sheepish grin. “Sorry, honey. You're right.”

   Charles took a deep breath and slowly lowered himself into the chair. “Okay. So, Charley’s friend is a Martian mouse. And he saved your life,” he mumbled, brow furrowed. Abruptly, he was glaring again. “Still doesn’t explain why he was _sprawled on top_ of you _in your bed,_ ” he snapped.

   “We were mind-walking!” Alley yelped, hands out to stave off potential homicide. “He was helping me recover memories!” 

   Charles froze, suspicious. “Explain,” he growled.

   She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Martian mice have psychic abilities. They’re … empathic, and most have the ability to share memories and thought through touch. The really strong ones, like Stoker, can enter another person’s mind and browse memories, even change or erase them. That’s what you saw us doing. I couldn't remember what happened in the tower, so he was trying to help me recall.”

   “We know what happened. It collapsed and you were trapped inside.” When Alley and Stoker exchanged glances, Charles frowned. “That’s … not what happened?”

   “Not … in that particular order,” Alley mumbled, fidgeting. “There’s a lot more to it. It’s a really _long_ story.”

   He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his knees. “I'm listenin’.”

   Alley slumped, shot Stoker a pleading glance. “Do you think you can … you know.” She gestured at her forehead. “Explain to him like Throttle did for me? Might make more sense coming straight from the horse’s mouth and all.”

   Stoker shot her a droll glance. “You sure he ain’t gonna pop me if I get close enough?”

   “Oh, come on!” She threw her hands into the air. “We’re all friends here! Daddy, _put down_ the chair leg.”

   Charles grumbled a bit, but dropped the leg on the floor beside him. Stoker strolled around the bed, dropping to his knees in front of him. “Sorry, gotta get up close and personal for this,” he said when Charles tried to ease away, looking far too uncomfortable.

   “Trust him, Dad. He won’t hurt you,” Alley urged. “Just … relax and let him explain. Please? For me?” She put on her best puppy-eyed expression, the one she knew he could never resist.

   After a long moment, he sighed and nodded. “This better be good,” he muttered, clamping his eyes shut as Stoker leaned in. His jaw tightened when the mouse took his face in both hands and pressed his antenna to his temples.

   Alley waited, expecting Stoker to start talking, and was surprised when the pair merely sat there, utterly still and silent. When Throttle had explained to her, she’d assumed he’d been speaking out loud; now she realized his voice had been entirely in her head. She also expected a long wait, given the amount of info Stoker had to rehash. Therefore, she was even more surprised when, after only a few minutes had ticked by, he let her father go and sat back.

   Charles opened his eyes, far more shaken than Alley had ever seen him look. He stared back and forth between them, heaved a long sigh and wiped a hand over his face. “I need a drink,” he muttered, shaking his head.

   Stoker chuckled and unhooked a small flask from his belt.  He held it up, shook it with a wry smile. “That I can help with.”

   He offered it to Charles, who accepted it and, after a moment of hesitation, unscrewed the cap and took a cautious sniff. His eyes widened. “What is this?”

   “Martian ale. Pretty strong stuff. Wouldn't take more’n a sip or two, if I were you,” Stoker cautioned. 

   Charles took a quick swig from the flask, and nearly choked as the liquor burned a fiery trail down his throat. “Holy shit!” he wheezed, pounding his chest with his fist. “That's some strong hooch ya got there.”

   Stoker grinned as he pocketed the flask. “Feel a little more grounded now?”

   “ If by ‘grounded’ you mean my entire world just flipped over on its  _ head _ , then yeah. I’m feelin’ pretty damned grounded,” Charles snorted.

   Stoker laughed, glanced at Alley. “I can see where ya get it from,” he teased.

   She just rolled her eyes at him. “How much did you explain? That didn’t take long.”

   “ Sharin’ memories normally don’t. Didn’t tell him  _ everything _ , but he’s got the general gist of it.”

   “So. Alien warfare, huh?” Charles shook his head, glanced at his daughter. “You know your mom’s gonna flip if she finds out, don’t you?”

   Alley’s eyes widened in panic. “You can’t tell her!” she yelped. “She’ll force me to move back to Florida and never let me out of the house again! You _know_ how she is!”

   “You’re an adult, ain’t ya? She can’t force you to do anything,” Stoker pointed out.

   “No, she’ll just lay on the guilt so thick we’ll both be _smothered_ in it ‘til she gets her way.” Alley groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Daddy, _please_ don’t mention any of this to Mom. She never wanted me to move out here in the first place. Now she’ll have all the excuse she needs to drag me back again.”

   Charles cleared his throat. “You know I don’t like keepin’ secrets from your mother,” he replied. “Besides, I ain't sure she’s wrong. Even if that Limburger character’s gone, who’s to say those … Plutarkian folk won’t just send another guy to replace ‘im?”

   “Even if she went back to Florida, she wouldn’t necessarily be any safer there,” Stoker reasoned. “Alien warfare tends to spread out pretty far. There’s another commander taken up residence in Detroit. Now that Limburger’s disappeared, he’ll likely come knockin’, lookin’ to take over Chi-town, too. Also been gettin’ wind of potential issues developin’ on the east coast.”

   “See? Wouldn’t I be safer here with a bunch of really strong, kickass Martian rebels protecting me than all alone back in Florida?” Alley said hopefully.

    “Yeah. ‘Cause they’ve all done such a _bangup job_ of it so far,” Charles growled, staring pointedly around the hospital room.

   “That _wasn’t_ their fault. ‘Sides, they saved me, remember? If it wasn’t for Stoker, I’d be dead!”

   “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have nearly died in the first place!”

   Alley blinked and glanced at Stoker. “Did you tell him _why_ I was in the tower?”

   He shrugged. “He has the right to know,” he replied quietly. “Besides, he ain’t wrong. I’m the one talked you into it.”

   “I thought we went over this. I don’t blame you, so stop blaming yourself! _My_ choice, remember? I knew the risks.” She switched her glare to her father. “And _you_! As was recently mentioned, I _am_ an adult and I _will_ make my own decisions about _my_ life. And I _choose_ to stay _here_ , and I won’t let you or Mom or _anybody_ drag me off to where I don’t want to go! I didn’t even get to start college yet, and I still haven’t given up on that!” She put on her fiercest glower and dared her father to contradict her.

   Charles stared at her for a long, silent moment, before he abruptly dropped his head in his hands and laughed, shoulders shaking. “You get more like your mom every day,” he managed around his chuckles, wiping at his eyes.

   “Gosh, Dad. Thanks for that,” she deadpanned, earning more chortles.

   Charles eventually sighed and leaned back, folding his hands across his stomach as he considered. “Look. I guess so long as she don’t start askin’ question, there ain’t no reason to divulge the real story,” he began slowly. “Guess it’ll be easier on all of us if she just thinks it was an accident.  _ But _ .” He shot his daughter a stern glance. “If she starts suspectin’ there’s more to it, starts askin’ questions about what might’ve really happened, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

   Alley nodded, eyes wide. “Fair enough. But there’s no reason for her to suspect, so long as she doesn’t get an eyeful of the guys. They’ve done a pretty good job of staying hidden so far, right?”

   Charles grunted. “Accidents happen. Case in point.” He raised an eyebrow at Stoker.

   Alley sniffed. “Well, it isn’t like we were expecting you to come barging in here!” She cocked her head, frowning. “Why _are_ you here, anyway? I thought you weren’t coming back ‘til tomorrow.”

   “Oh.” Charles blinked several times. “Oh, right. Almost forgot about that.” He glanced around the room, searched the floor for a moment before he reached under the bed. When he withdrew, he clutched a worn leather billfold in his hand. “Came lookin’ for my wallet. Figured I must’ve dropped it earlier,” he grunted, pocketing it. “Guess it was a lucky break for me I showed up when I did, eh?”

   “Yeah. _Real_ lucky,” she mumbled. “Well, you found it, so I guess you can get back to Mom now, right? She’s probably getting worried.”

   “Anxious to get rid of me, eh?” Charles raised an eyebrow, glanced between them with growing suspicion. “Any particular reason?”

   “No, of course not! Just … I’m kind of wiped. Mind-walking takes a lot out of a person! Stoker was about to take off, too. We were … just finishing up when you arrived.” Alley suspected the hot blush spreading over her face wasn’t helping her case much, but Stoker, bless him, didn’t miss a beat.

   “Yep. Got the info we needed.” The mouse strode to the window and opened the pane. He turned back and offered a two-fingered salute. “Gotta get back and tell the others what we learned. They’ll be relieved to know what happened to those blueprints. Nice to meet you, Chuck. Your daughter’s an amazin’ woman. Take care of yourself, Alley-girl.” And with that, he was out the window, tail vanishing around the corner.

   “We’re on the sixth floor!” Charles scrambled to his feet, but Alley’s hand on his arm stopped him.

   “Don’t worry, he’s fine. The guys are … _really_ good at scaling walls,” she explained.

   A not-quite-comfortable silence fell between them. Alley squirmed when she felt her father’s eyes on her, realized he wasn’t quite finished yet. He finally sighed, leaned his forearms on his knees again as he fixed her with a _look_. “You sure there ain’t _another_ reason why you wanna stay here so badly?” he asked, always to the point.

   She blinked, then blinked again as his meaning struck home. “N-no, I—It’s not like that! He’s not like my _boyfriend_ or anything!” she sputtered.

   “Hmmm. So the whole lockin’ lips thing was just part of that mind-walkin’ ordeal?”

    She flinched, her blush deepening. “That was—It wasn’t—Look, what happened was _really_ traumatic and Stoker was right in my head going through it _with_ me. Afterwards was just—It was just emotional comfort, that’s all.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

   Charles grunted, unconvinced. “Gotta say, yer taste in guys sort’ve downgraded a bit since Chaz.”

   She glared. “Chaz was a tool, and you never liked him anyway. Stoker’s _twice_ the man _he_ ever was!”

   “He ain’t a man at all.”

   “Daddy!”

   Charles held up his hand, chuffing a sigh. “Okay, sorry. That was uncalled for.”

   Alley slumped, idly picking at her wrapped fingers. “Guess I can’t blame you,” she mumbled guiltily. “I didn’t accept it at first either when … uh…” She trailed off, biting her lip before she could spill the beans on her cousin’s relationship. Charley might not appreciate the word getting out. “Just, Stoker and the others are all good people. Despite where they come from, what they look like, you can’t ask for a better or more loyal group of friends. I mean, they’re on a foreign planet trying to defend it from the same invaders that nearly destroyed theirs, even though they’ve got their hands full as it is. Do you think us humans would bother doing something like that? We can’t even stop fighting amongst ourselves, over _way_ more stupid reasons!”

   “Hmmm. Guess you’ve got a point with that,” Charles admitted.

   “I’m in too deep. I _can’t_ back out now. It’d look like I’m just running away. Davidsons never say die, remember? Besides, I _did_ save the planet. Doesn’t that account for anything?”

   He chuckled and held out a hand to stave off more excuses. “Okay, okay. Looks like there ain’t no talkin’ you outta this. You wanna stay so bad, then I guess I ain’t got no say in it. My little girl’s all grown up, now. A superhero and everything. Your mom’d be proud, if she knew.”

   Alley snorted. “No, she wouldn’t. She’d be too busy freaking out and building a padded room to lock me in for the rest of my life.”

   “Bah. You don’t give her enough credit.” He reached to playfully ruffle her hair. “She ain’t as weak as she lets us believe. I think she’d handle it fine, once she got used to the idea that we ain’t alone in the universe.” When Alley merely cocked an eyebrow at him, he grinned and added, “But there ain’t no sense temptin’ fate by confessin’ just yet, eh? Guess it can be our little secret for awhile longer.”

 


	35. Thirty-Five

   “ So. What’s the verdict, Doc?” Alley waited impatiently as Dr. Anderson finished re-bandaging her damaged arm. “Am I free to go tomorrow?” 

   The doctor sat back and wiped his hands off. “Your side is healing nicely. No major swelling or signs of infection, and the sutures look good. They can come out in about a month.” He jotted down a few notes. “Unfortunately, due to the nature of the wound, there will be scarring.” Upon noticing Alley’s expression, he hastened to add, “It can be diminished with surgery. Skin grafts or other alternative methods. We can discuss options further into the future, after the wound has properly healed. My bigger concern at the moment is your right arm. Whatever impaled your bicep went in deep enough to damage your muscle. We also found minute traces of some sort of toxin in the wound. Possibly from whatever stabbed you, but we couldn't get accurate results with the tests we ran. I suspect it contained some type of paralytic, although most of it had filtered out of your bloodstream before you were brought in.”

   “Is … that why my hands feel like they’re half-asleep all the time?” Alley frowned at her bandaged fingers.

   “How long have they felt like this?”

   “Since I woke up the other day, I think. I just figured it was because they were all swollen and everything. I thought they'd go back to normal when the swelling went down.”

   “We pulled a number of large splinters from your palms and fingers. Whatever you’d used to support yourself was crawling with bacteria. Infection had set into the wounds before we removed them, but the antibiotics you’re on have already taken care of it. Still, the infection, along with the toxin that got into your blood, probably caused some mild nerve damage.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Are you having trouble using your hands? Holding a cup or a spoon?”

   “Well, a bit, at times.” She grimaced. “I almost spilled a cup of water all over myself this morning. I can hold stuff, it’s just kind of difficult. I feel like I have to, I dunno, squeeze extra hard or something to keep my grip. It's hard to judge how much strength to use with most of the feeling in my fingers gone.”

   “Do you find it harder to lift anything with your right hand than your left?”

   “I haven't lifted anything heavier than my pillow, I don't think. I'm naturally left-handed anyway.”

   He nodded. “I’m going to assign you some physical therapy exercises to do every day at home. The wound is healing well, but your muscles are still in need of rehabilitation. You need to build the strength back up in your arm. I also want to see you twice a week for two months, for further therapy on your hands and to assess your progress.” He scribbled in his notepad and tore the slip of paper from it to hand to her. She took it gingerly, careful not to drop it.

   “ Don’t worry.” He offered a reassuring smile. “I don’t believe the damage is permanent. Follow those exercises  _ carefully _ . Don’t overdo it, you don’t want to make things worse. Until you fully heal you are not to indulge in activities that might cause more stress to your injuries.”

   “Such as?”

   “Excessive amounts of writing or typing. Playing musical instruments. Any type of strenuous exercise or sport such as aerobics or softball. Just a few examples.”

   She huffed. “I can at least bathe myself and brush my own teeth, can’t I?”

   He chuckled as he got to his feet. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Just take care about your sutures.” He drew back the privacy curtain from around her bed. “As for your discharge, I think we’ll go as planned, and release you tomorrow afternoon. I assume you’ll make arrangements for someone to come pick you up? I don’t want you driving just yet.”

   “Yeah. My parents or cousin. I’ll talk it over with them when they visit today.”

* * *

   “Yes, Mother,” Alley sighed, for the third time in as many minutes. She rolled her eyes at her father and cousin, who merely laughed in return. “I promise I will call more than once a month, okay? Just as soon as I get a new phone. Again.”

   “And if anything else happens, you’ll be sure to let us know.’’

   “Sure, Ma. If I get trapped inside another collapsing tower, you’ll be the very first person I call.” 

   “Don’t you even joke about that!” Vivian swatted lightly at her daughter’s good arm. “Honestly, child, you’ve already taken thirty years off my life!” She released Alley from her tight hug and stepped back with a disapproving frown. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t leave so soon. Surely we can extend our stay just a few more days?” She turned a questioning glance to her husband, thereby missing the way Alley’s eyes widened in panic.

   Charles, however, noted her pleading expression and slung an arm around Vivian’s shoulders. “Now, we’ve discussed this, Vivi. I can’t be gone from the garage much longer, and didn’t you say you were worried about Marie, managing the bakery alone? She’s getting up there in years, remember?”

   “Mom, I’m healing up fine, and I’m getting out of the hospital tomorrow,” Alley hastily put in. “It’s not like I’m alone. Charley’s here!”

   “I suppose…” Vivian frowned, uncertain.

   “Gee, Aunt Viv. Nice to know you put so much faith in me,” Charley snorted, earning a muffled snicker from her cousin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she attends her therapy and all her doctors appointments and takes her medicine like a good little patient.”

   “Are you sure you’ll have time? With running your own business and all…”

   “We’ve got plenty of friends who can drive her around. She won’t have any trouble making appointments.”

    “Geez, guys, it’s not like I’m a complete invalid,” Alley complained.

   “Yeah, but until the holes in your arm and side patch up, no driving,” her father reminded her.

   Alley scowled at the thick swath of bandages still taped around her right bicep. Stupid alien fish. Stupid infected splinters. At least the nerve damage wasn’t permanent (she hoped). The mild pins-and-needles feeling and her inability to grip properly was annoying, though. The doctor was right in that driving, especially stick-shift, was out of the question. She also wouldn’t be playing the piano again anytime soon. Or writing any term papers, for that matter, which left making another go at college out completely. At least for this year. Anyhow, it was so far into the first term by now that she probably didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of ever catching up to the work she’d already missed. “Curses. Foiled again,” she grumbled humorlessly.

   “What time does your flight leave?” Charley asked her uncle.

   “Two o'clock tomorrow. Which means we probably wanna be at the airport by noon.”

   “Wait.” Alley blinked. “You guys flew out here?”

   “Our kid went and nearly died on us. You expected us to walk?” Charles teased.     


   “No, I expected you to drive.” She frowned. “Flying must've been expensive.”

   “Don’t you worry about that. The shop has the funds to cover it.”

   “Well, what about my hospital bills?” Alley didn’t even want to imagine the amount of money her stay had racked up already, not counting the return checkup visits and therapy she’d need.

   “You’re on your parents’ insurance, aren’t you?” Charley pointed out.

   “I would’ve been, _if_ I was a student. But I’m not a student. Will the insurance still cover me? I’m an adult living independently and—”

   “Again, not something you’re going to worry about.” Her father’s voice left no room for argument. “Your bills will be paid, one way or another. Either through my insurance, or through the municipal of Chicago. After all, it’s their fault for allowing a crimelord like Limburger to run rampant through the city for so long. I’m sure social media and my lawyers would have a field day with that bit of information.”

   Alley glanced at her cousin, eyebrows raised. “Can he do that?” she asked in a stage whisper.

   Charley smirked in response. “I think your parents can do whatever they set their minds to, no questions asked.”

* * *

   “Free at _last_!” Alley raised her arms and tipped her head back to feel the sun on her face. A gust of wind caught her hair and she yelped and hurriedly tucked her windbreaker more tightly around herself. “What happened to _summer_ while I was gone?” she wailed.

   Charley laughed as she navigated the wheelchair along the patient-pickup curb. “You ain’t in Florida anymore, kid. Welcome to September in Illinois.”

   “Right. Note to self: buy a heavier coat.” Alley hunched down as the breeze picked up again. “Or maybe a snowsuit.”

   Charley laughed again. “Weenie.”

   “And don’t you forget it!”

   They reached Charley’s car, and Alley was relieved to see she’d brought the Jeep rather than the truck. She heaved herself from the wheelchair and nearly fell. “Whoof! Looks like some hardcore cardio might be in order,” she gasped.

   “Now, now. Remember what the doc said. No excessive exercise,” Charley teased. “Need help getting in?”

   “Think I can manage.”

   She did, and Charley shut the door and tossed Alley’s small duffle bag into the back seat before trotting around to the driver’s side to slide in. They navigated traffic in silence, as Alley slipped in and out of a light doze. When they made it back to the garage, Charley pulled into the small lot beside it and nudged her cousin awake. “We’re home, Sleeping Beauty,” she teased. “Think you can walk in or should I have one of the guys come out and carry you? I’m sure Stoker would be _happy_ to volunteer.”

   Alley slid her a sidelong glance, decided to ignore her knowing smirk. “I can walk, thanks.”

   Or so she claimed, but even the short stroll from the car to the door left her winded and her side in pain. All that time flat on her back had definitely taken their toll. It didn’t help that as soon as she set foot into the garage, she found herself nearly bowled over by a crowd of large, furry bodies, greeting her warmly and welcoming her home with way too much enthusiasm. She was more than a little surprised to find Rimfire among them; Carbine and Gunner hung back at a more discreet distance and watched.

   “I didn’t realize you three were still here,” she told Rimfire, after Charley had gotten them all to stand back and give her some breathing space. “I thought you would’ve booked it back to Mars as soon as everything happened.”

   “Gunner’s been trying to get Carbine to do just that,” Rimfire muttered, casting a glance at the general. “She’s been insisting we stay here and help keep an eye on things. Make sure nothing else happens. With Limburger MIA, others might try to move in on his turf. News like this travels fast.”

   “So, even if we took down one crime lord, another will just rise to take his place?” Alley blew out a breath. Stoker had warned her about this, but _still_ … “Makes me feel like all my efforts were a perfectly good waste of time,” she grumbled.

   “Don’t say that!” Gunner stepped forward and frowned at her. “Without those ‘wasted efforts’, a truly diabolical weapon would have ended up in Plutarkian hands, and Mars would have been finished. Earth, as well. And who knows how many other planets? Your efforts saved everyone, even though it nearly cost you your life. I don’t call that wasted.”

   Alley’s mouth twisted. “Well, yes, that’s true. But without those particular efforts, Limburger never would have gotten his hands on the blueprints in the first place.”

   “And none of this would have happened, yes. And a seriously powerful alien crime lord would _still_ be reigning over this city, and the Plutarkians wouldn’t be in a frenzy right now attempting to recover their very substantial losses,” Gunner countered smoothly, crossing her arms.

   Alley opened her mouth, then shut it again. She could hardly argue with logic like that. She offered a shrug and a faint grin, instead, to which Gunner replied with a smile of her own.

   “Anyway, hate to break up the reunion,” Charley cut in, “but Alley Cat, you look like you're about to fall over. Maybe get your butt upstairs and take a nap, huh?”

   Alley wrinkled her nose. “ _Now_ who's being bossy?” But she limped for the stairs without further argument, which only proved Charley’s point. She forced herself to climb the steps, waved off all offers of help, although she was nearly panting from the effort by the time she reached the apartment. She hoped stair-climbing wasn’t one of those exercises the doctor had warned her against, or she'd be sleeping in Priscilla for a few months. Someone had rescued the Bus from the tower before it went down; she'd seen it sitting in the garage, a little banged up but none the worse for wear. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d camped out on its floor.

   When Alley reached her bedroom, she stopped short at the door, puzzled. Something felt … out of place. First off, her bed was neatly made. She frowned. Normally she just yanked the covers this way and that until they were relatively even, but she was pretty sure making the bed had been the _last_ thing on her mind the last morning she’d been in it. Yet, her sheets were neatly smoothed and tucked with military precision, light comforter folded at the foot.

   She supposed someone could have gone in and made it for her, but did they also tidy up her closet? The door was open, and she could see her shirts and dresses all neatly on their hangers, as opposed to haphazardly hanging off the doorknob and the back of her desk chair where she’d left them. What’s more, they’d all been organized by  _ color _ .

   “Has someone been in here?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Charley, who’d followed her upstairs.

   “Yeah, I was just coming to warn you that Carbine’s been using your room while you were gone.” Her cousin flashed an apologetic smile. “Gunner’s been on the couch, and Rimfire sleeps at the board with the other guys.

   Lips pursing, Alley looked back at her room. “I see she made herself right at home,” she mumbled under her breath. She couldn’t help feeling a little insulted that the general had deemed it necessary to tidy up. Her room wasn’t _that_ messy, damn it! It was just … _lived in_ , that’s all.

   “I offered one of them the use of my room, too, but they wouldn’t accept on the principle that it’s my place.” Charley offered a shrug and a sheepish grin. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

   Honestly, Alley probably would have minded it less had it been _Gunner_ sleeping in her bed and going through her things, but she forced a smile and shook her head. “Not like I’ve been using it lately. No sense making a guest sleep on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed going to waste.”

   “She’ll move out to the living room now that you’re back, but I don’t imagine they’ll be staying for much longer. She can’t be gone from Mars forever. They need her up there.” Charley handed over Alley’s duffle. “You need anything before I get back to work?”

   “Nah, I’m good for now. Thanks.”

   Charley nodded and headed back to the garage, and Alley sat down on the bed with a sigh and toed off her sneakers, wincing as her side pulled again. Hopefully her pain medication was stuffed into her bag. She dragged it toward her and zipped it open.

   “Knock knock!” 

   Stoker peered around the doorway with a grin on his face. “I come bearing gifts.” He held up a small jar and stepped into the room, using his tail to shut the door behind him.

   Alley raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

   “Medicine,” he replied.

   “I already have meds.” She shook the bottle of pills at him.

   “Not from Mars, you don’t.”

  The other eyebrow went up and she eyeballed the jar in his hand with open suspicion. “I don’t have to _drink_ it, do I?”

   He chuckled. “Not unless you wanna poison yourself.”

   “Ha!” She pointed, triumphant. “So you _admit_ you tried to poison me!”

   Her cheeky grin told him she was merely teasing, so he responded with a mock-scolding glance and a playful flick to the nose as he sat down beside her. “I admit to no such thing.” He was unprepared for the pillow that met his snout, her laugh tickling his ears when he grunted in surprise. Then he blinked, inhaled deeply. “Has Carbine been sleeping in here?” he questioned.

   Alley wrinkled her nose. “It'd be unseemly for the general to sleep on the floor. My bed got volunteered for service.”

   He hummed, offered a quizzical smile. “Guess you'll need to shave your sheets a bit. We tend to shed more in warm weather.”

   She glanced away and shrugged. She could recall her first insulting reaction toward him after their initial meeting, and it made her uncomfortable. “They can be washed. No big deal,” she mumbled, embarrassed. When he fixed her with a long, probing look that made her squirm in her seat, she cleared her throat and pasted a bright smile on her face. “ _ So _ . Another homemade concoction? How do you expect me to take  _ this _ one, shove it up my nose?”

   He studied her face another moment, expression unfathomable. Then he smiled. “It’s a lotion, applied to the skin. It’s got ingredients that do wonders for healin’ deep wounds, and it’ll reduce chances of severe scarring, as well.”

   “And it's safe to use on humans?” She couldn't quite hide her skepticism.

   He chuckled. “Charley keeps a supply of it on hand for the rookies. Pretty sure she’s used it a few times herself after a skirmish. I make sure she gets restocked whenever I visit.”

   Alley straightened, unable to purge a small swell of hope. “And this will keep me from scarring badly?” she asked. “I won’t need … skin grafts to fix my side after I heal?”

   Stoker blew out a breath. “Hard to say at this point,” he admitted. “I normally would’ve given it to you a lot sooner, but with you bein’ in the hospital and all … people would’ve noticed, and probably started askin’ a lot of nosey questions.”

   She frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

   He unscrewed the cap and held the pot of salve under her nose … and she instantly recoiled when the incredible _stench_ of its contents hit her right in the face. “ _Phwegh_!” she gasped, nearly gagging as she clapped a hand over her nose. “That is _repugnant_! What the hell _is_ that stuff?”

   Stoker chuckled and recapped the jar. “As you just learned, it’s got quite a noticeable odor. Once applied it doesn’t take long to fade out, but medical staff definitely would’ve noticed if you’d used it there. Couldn’t risk ‘em tryin’ to run tests on it or somethin’. The main ingredients are comprised of minerals found only on Martian soil. Specifically, from certain caverns deep inside the mountains.”

   “I guess that _would_ be good cause for questions.” Alley shifted in her seat, lowering her hand from her nose. “You’re sure this stuff actually _works_?”

   “ It’d be better if I’d been able to get it to you sooner. As it stands, with so much time passed, it won’t do the job  _ as well _ . You’ll probably still scar, but if you start applyin’ it now, you may not need surgery. And it should also help heal that nerve damage in your hands.” He shot her a playful glance. “That is, if you can tolerate the smell long enough for it to do its job.”

   She pursed her lips. “Why is it that your miracle cure-alls either turn me inside out or make me smell like a … a…”

   “A Plutarkian?” he suggested with a grin.

   She snorted. “I don’t think Limburger smelled _quite_ that bad.”

   He laughed and set the pot on her bedside table, watched her attempt to pick the wrappings off her wounded arm. “Mind if I help with that?” he finally offered.

   She sighed. “Be my guest. My fine motor skills seem to be in need of some tweaking.”

   He carefully undid the bindings around her bicep. “Hold your breath,” he teased as he uncapped the jar again, dipped his fingers into the creamy reddish paste. He applied it carefully around the stitched wound, probably more gently than was necessary. Her skin started twitching almost instantly, and she grimaced. “Is it supposed to … burn like that?”

   He paused. “Is it painful?”

   “No, more like … cold-burn. Kind of tingles a bit. Like that Icy Hot stuff people use on sore muscles.”

   He hummed. “Then it’s workin’. As long as it doesn’t start to cause more pain or make your arm swell up, you’re okay.”

   “ And if it  _ does _ ?”

   “Then we’ll rinse you off an’ call an ambulance.” He offered a weak grin at her deadpan expression. “Waddaya want? You’re only the second human to use this stuff. No tellin’ what could happen. But our physiologies are a close enough match that there shouldn’t be any ill effects.”

   She wrinkled her nose. “Have I mentioned lately how much I _love_ being your human guinea pig to test your concoctions on?”

   He gave her nose another playful flick, bandaged her bicep with fresh wrappings and made her lie back. She pulled up her shirt far enough to expose her taped side, stopped just under her breast. He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Been waitin’ to get you into this position,” he teased.

   She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Oh, _there_ you are. Been wondering where that horny goat had wandered off to.” But her cheeks had turned faintly pink and she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes.

   He laughed and peeled the gauze from her side, gently ran his fingers along the puckered lines. A thoughtful frown appeared as he studied the wound. It was healing nicely, but there were already signs of developing scar tissue. He nevertheless massaged a large dollop of the medicine into her skin and re-bandaged the wound. “Apply it twice a day to start off,” he instructed. “In a week or two, reduce to once a day, just before you go to bed. If you have any reactions, stop use immediately.”

   “Got it, Doc.” She pulled down her shirt and sat up, just as a knock sounded on the door. Before she could tell whoever was on the other side to wait, it opened to let Carbine into the room.

   The general glanced between the pair, eyebrows raised as she took in the scene. “Am I disrupting something?” she questioned, suspicious.

   “We were just finishing up.” Unfazed, Stoker tossed the used bandages into Alley’s wastebasket. “Did you need anything?”

   “I wanted to speak with Alley,” Carbine replied. “Alone.” She fixed him with a stern look. “If you’re done flirting for the moment, can you please wait outside?”

   “Uh, excuse me.” Alley frowned at her, offended on Stoker’s behalf. “First off, it’s not your room to kick him out of. Secondly, he’s not only your former general, he’s your _uncle_. Shouldn’t you show him a _little_ more respect?”

   Carbine didn’t reply, merely fixed her with a cool gaze. “Well. You certainly seem to be making the rounds,” she muttered after a moment.

   Stoker bristled. “Carbine!” he snapped. “That’s enough!”

   “Sorry, Uncle.” She didn’t sound sorry in the least.

   “No, it’s fine.” Alley rested a hand on his arm, meeting Carbine’s gaze boldly. “I know she doesn’t like me, so no use going for civility. Right, General?”

   Carbine looked down her nose at her. “Well, you _did_ steal my boyfriend.”

   Alley huffed. “I didn’t steal anyone. We’re _not_ dating. Never were.” Before Carbine could respond, she added, “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

   “I wanted to ask you about your friend. The one called Chex.”

   “Why do you want to know about her?”

   “How long have you known her?” Carbine asked. “How _well_ do you know her?”

   Alley narrowed her eyes. “Not long,” she admitted. “I met her and her brother at school when I first got here. Chris helped me out when Limburger showed up, and me and Chex just started hanging out together. She’s nice. Weird, but nice.”

   “So you admit you don’t know her well.”

   She shook her head. “What is this about? So we’re not well-acquainted yet. So what?"

   Carbine tapped her foot, impatient. “Stoker filled us in on what you’d discovered in your memories. About how it all went wrong. And I—”

   “Suspect Chex.” Alley huffed. “Of _course_ you do. Even though you have _no proof_ that she had anything to do with any of this. Or her brother, for that matter. You’re just looking for the first convenient scapegoat.”

    “Why are you so adamant that she _doesn’t_ have anything to do with it? You admitted you don’t know her, and she was the only one who knew what we’d planned.”

    “No, she wasn’t.” Alley glowered. “There were quite a few of us who knew what was going to happen, and hey! If we’re gonna go by _your_ logic, then who’s to say you’re not _just_ as guilty?”

    Carbine’s mouth opened and closed a few times, stunned. Even Stoker looked startled by the accusation. “A-and how do you figure that?” the general finally sputtered. Alley couldn’t be sure, but she suspected her face had flushed red under the fur. “What do _I_ possibly stand to gain from betraying my own planet?”

    Alley tilted her head, expression coy. “Petty revenge?” Her lips curled into a smirk at Carbine’s flabbergasted expression. “Jealousy is a powerful motivator. I hardly know you. You admit you don’t like me.” She ticked off points on her fingers. “I ‘stole your boyfriend’…” Another finger. “A simple phone call under an assumed name, Limburger goes ballistic and kills me, and ta-da! No more competition and nobody’s the wiser. Only, I guess I screwed it up by, you know,  _ not dying _ .” She offered a glib shrug. “Sorry about that.”

    Carbine’s hands had clenched so hard that they actually shook. “You … have the _absolute gall_ to … accuse me of … of…”

   “Oh, _relax,_ before you give yourself a stroke.” Alley rolled her eyes. “I’m not blaming you for any of this. All I did was stuff the shoe on the other foot. Not so fun when _you’re_ the one being falsely accused of high treason, is it?”

    Beside her, Stoker chuckled low in his throat, shook his head. “You’re gonna end up on her permanent shitlist if you keep _that_ up,” he murmured, tugging on her hair. “Kindly save the catfights for when you’ve got a chance in hell of _winnin’_ one.”

    Carbine’s deadly glare briefly rested on her uncle before flicking back to Alley. “Whatever happened between you and Throttle is nothing but a lapse of judgment on his part,” she snapped. “This … _infatuation_ won’t last. You don’t _honestly_ believe someone of his importance and moral character could possibly remain interested in a pampered little princess like you, do you?”

    Alley drew herself up, Carbine’s words cutting far deeper than she liked. She  _ hated _ having her own doubts and insecurities flung in her face. Anger reared, and she bit back the hurt in favor of lashing out. “Well, gee. Let’s think about that one, huh? I mean,  _ frigid bitch  _ sure wasn’t doin’ it for him, so—”

   Stoker was on his feet and catching Carbine mid-lunge before Alley could process that either of them had even  _ moved _ . He manhandled his furious niece out of the room, cast an exasperated look over his shoulder with an order to “take a nap”, before the door slammed shut and their raised voices disappeared down the hall.

   Alley released a screech of pure, aggravated frustration and flopped forcefully back onto the bed, remembering too late to mind her wounds. She grunted at the resulting pain, downed a couple of pills, and decided to take Stoker’s advice and sleep. If she got really lucky, maybe Carbine and her flunkies would be gone by the time she woke up again.

 


	36. thirty-six

   When Alley woke up, it was nearly two in the morning and she was starving. She laid there and stared at the dark ceiling for a few moments, sighed and pushed the covers down her legs. Funny how she didn't remember crawling under them to begin with, but her complaining stomach and sand-dry throat proved too much of a distraction to ponder it overmuch. Her muscles protested mightily when she got to her feet, stiff either from overuse in the last day, or not _enough_ use in the last two weeks. Or maybe a combination of both; she honestly couldn't tell at this point.

   She wandered down the hall, noted the still bodies on the living room floor (and was she seeing things or was it extra crowded in there?) and did her best to sneak past into the kitchen. Last thing she wanted at this time of night was another confrontation with Carbine. Charley'd probably wake up and come murder them _both_.

   She reached for a drinking glass in the cupboard, swore under her breath when it slipped out of her too-weak grasp, and frantically attempted to catch it before it hit the counter. She somehow managed to catch it with her arms, cupped in her elbows, but the hasty movements jarred her wounded bicep. She hissed in pain. The cup slipped free and tumbled into the sink with a loud clatter, miraculously _not_ shattering.

   "You need some help with that?"

   She squealed in surprise and spun around. Vinnie stood there looking as startled as she felt. "Yeesh! Give a guy a heart attack," he complained as he clutched dramatically at his bare chest.

   "Wh-what're you _doing_ here?" she gasped. "Why aren't you at the scoreboard with the others?"

   Vinnie looked back at the living room and Alley followed his gaze. It hadn't been her imagination; there were definitely more than two bodies out there, and they were noticeably bigger than either of the females. "Carbine pulled rank on us," the mouse grumbled. "She and Gunner are sleepin' at the board an' _we're_ all crammed in here."

   Alley raised an eyebrow, torn between amusement and guilt. She reached up to give him an awkwardly sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Well, don't feel too bad. Given the horror stories Charley told me about your living quarters, I'm not so sure that neatfreak did herself any favors."

   "Neatfreak?" Vinnie's own eyebrows went up as a grin twitched around his mouth.

   She snorted. "She color-coded my _closet_. And she arranged my footwear in order of tallest to shortest. Normal people don't _do_ that, especially to someone else's belongings. I imagine her OCD's going through the _roof_ right now."

   "Hah! It'd serve her right," he gloated, prompting a smile. Then he cocked his head. "What's OCD?"

   She sniggered. "Never mind. I think it's my fault, though. I'm probably the reason why she kicked you all out of your own home. She might be trying to avoid me. We sort've got into it earlier today…"

   "Yeah, I know." He grinned at her. "Doors were open. We could hear the whole thing. You got balls, talkin' to the general like that. And you should've heard Throttle lay into her once Stoke dragged her downstairs. Neither of 'em were happy."

   "Throttle did?" She blinked in surprise.

   Vinnie shot her a sly glance. "In case ya never noticed, both of those guys are kind've overprotective about you. They sure don't act that way about any _other_ female in their acquaintance."

   Alley shifted, uncomfortable with the subject. "They just treat me like some damsel in distress, is all. Clearly, they believe I can't take care of myself." She grimaced and glanced at her bandaged arm. "Guess they aren't _entirely_ wrong…"

   "That ain't the only reason an' you know it," he snorted, crossing his arms.

   It was tempting to argue the point, but she sure wasn't about to get into her relationship issues with the Velocity Atrocity. Best change the subject to something else before it got too uncomfortable.

   Namely, _his_ relationship issues.

   "Speaking of that…" She crossed her own arms to match his pose. "How are things between you and Charley? Everything okay?"

   He sputtered, caught off-guard. "S-sure! Why wouldn't they be?"

   Her lips twitched. "I just figured if things were great, you'd be shacked up in her bedroom, not stuck out here on the floor with the rest of the guys."

   His jaw worked silently for another moment as his ears slowly flushed dark pink. "I'm on the _couch_ ," he finally grumbled, looked away to fix his sulky glare on the floor. Alley had never seen a mouse _pout_ before. It was kind of cute.

   "Don't quibble the details. Or is that guy-code for 'I'm in the doghouse'?" she teased. When he continued to sulk, she rolled her eyes. "I don't know what you were expecting, Vinnie. I mean, you flirt around with another chick _in front of your girlfriend_ and then you… what? Expect her to just swoon into your _manly arms_ and thank her lucky stars?"

   "I wasn't flirting!" Vinnie protested. "I was … I was just bein' friendly is all!"

   "Right. And Niagara is _just_ a waterfall." She fixed him with a look, voice flat. "You were flirting. With Gunner? During the cookout? I noticed. Chex noticed. Charley sure as _hell_ noticed. And she wasn't pleased, believe you me."

   "That was weeks ago!"

   "Yeah, and you should thank _your_ lucky stars that she didn't run your ass out of Chicago right then and there."

   He huffed, ears drooping. "Aw, come on! I was just bein' my usual, charming self! I don't _mean_ nothin' by it. Charley-girl knows that! Why's it suddenly matter when it never did before?"

   Alley cocked her head to one side. "Are you being _deliberately_ obtuse or are you really _that_ big of a moron?"

   "Hey, there's no need to get _snippy_ ," he griped.

   She heaved a drawn-out sigh. "Are you or are you _not_ in a serious relationship with my cousin?" she bit out.

   He hesitated. "Define 'serious'." She growled, reached over to yank hard on his arm hair. He blinked down at her. "What're you doin'? That supposed to hurt?" When a strangled screech of frustration escaped her clenched teeth, he snickered and nudged her. "Calm down. I'm just messin' with ya."

   "Well, _stop_ 'messin' and answer the damned question!" she hissed. "Do you love Charley or don't you?"

   He sobered, seemed to hunch a bit as he looked away, hands shoved into his jeans pockets as he gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I guess so."

   "You _guess_?"

   "I know!" he squeaked, hands coming up to ward off her deadly glare. "I _know_ I do, okay?"

   "And does _she_ know?"

   "Of course she does!" The pout returned. Along with no small amount of uncertainty.

   "Have you ever come out and straight-up _told_ her? Not just drop hints and suggestions, but actually _said_ the words?" When he remained silent, Alley pressed on. "We're not like you, you know. We don't have mental powers. We can't pick up on emotions the way you can, or read thoughts with a touch. All we have is your word, and if you're saying one thing and … and going around doing something else entirely, how are we supposed to _know_? You wanna talk about mixed signals?"

   He eyed her carefully. "We still talkin' about me 'n Charley?" he asked.

   " _Yes!_ " Alley winced and lowered her voice. "Yes," she repeated, after a deep, calming breath. "There's a reason why people say actions speak louder than words. I've been out of it for a couple of weeks, but if Gunner's been here this whole time and you've been acting around her the way you did at the cookout…" She shook her head. "Did it cross your mind even _once_ that _maybe_ you're seriously hurting Charley's feelings?"

   He remained silent for a long time, before he shifted and offered a grin that was only a shadow of its usual cocky self. "Aw, she's all right. She'd be punchin' me through the roof if she was really mad."

   Alley huffed a small laugh. "If you actually believe _that_ , then I've got a _lovely_ art-deco-themed skyscraper to sell you downtown. Needs a bit of remodeling."

   Another faint grin appeared. "Smartass."

   They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, before Vinnie reached around and plucked the forgotten glass out of the sink, filled it with water and offered it to her.

   She pursed her lips. "Thanks, but better make it plastic," she suggested. "My grip ain't what it used to be."

   "You sure?" He rummaged for a plastic cup and dumped the water into it. "It'd be nice if someone else got blamed for droppin' a breakable for a change," he teased.

   She pulled a face at him and carefully accepted the cup, managed to take a few swallows without spilling. "Hey, I've got nerve damage in my hands," she protested. "What's _your_ excuse?"

   He grinned. "I'm a big klutz."

   She almost snorted water. "Well, the first step is admitting it, I guess."

   Vinnie helped himself to a rootbeer out of the fridge, hesitated a few moments, shifted from foot to foot as she eyed him questioningly. "So, uh, how can I get Charley to, you know, start talkin' to me again?" he finally mumbled.

   "Have you considered groveling?" she deadpanned.

   "Ha ha." He grimaced. "It's just—I mean, I ain't good with words an' crap. I'm no smooth-talker like Stoker or Throttle. I'm a mouse of action! I'd just screw up an apology." His ears drooped. "I figure maybe if I take her somewhere real nice … _show_ her I'm sorry for hurtin' her. She'd get it, right?"

   "You mean like take her on an actual date?"

   "Yeah!" He sighed. "But, it ain't like I can take her to some fancy restaurant or someplace with lotsa people around. Ain't got no money, either."

   "You don't need to spend money to go on a nice date," Alley pointed out. "Just take her for a ride or something."

   "I always do that, anyhow. I want this to be … _special_. So she knows it means somethin' more'n just … _you_ know."

   Alley smiled faintly. He really wasn't good with words, was he? She fell into silence as she considered, while he waited with growing impatience. "Lake," she murmured after a few minutes.

   His ears perked. "What about a lake?"

   "There's this lake. Outside of the city. Some big trees and lots of clear space. Really pretty, romantic spot. Limburger tried to tear it up once."

   "Yeah, I remember the place." He slid her a glance. "That where Throttle took you?"

   She blushed and ignored the question. "Take Charley stargazing there. She used to love watching the stars with me when we were kids. Taught me the constellations and everything. And you can see lots of them out there without all the city light getting in the way. You might see shooting stars and everything. Maybe even a UFO." She giggled at his snort.

   "Stargazin', huh? Sounds kinda … boring." But he looked interested despite his skeptic words, so she pressed on.

   "Look, Charley's a woman, ain't she? Whatever she tells you, all women like to be wined and dined every once in awhile. Pack a nice picnic. Bring some blankets, a radio for mood music. And just … well, I'm sure you'll figure it out from there." She turned to look him in the eyes. "And most importantly, _tell her_. Actually say the words 'I love you'. It doesn't have to be fancy or anything. If you just put honest effort into it, you'll get your feelings across, and I think she'll appreciate _that_ more than any ridiculous, grandiose gestures you can make."

   He huffed softly. "That simple, huh?"

   "I didn't say it'd be simple. But that's what makes it special. _She_ knows your personality. So she's bound to know you're sincere." Alley poked him in the chest to emphasize her next words. "But, when you get back, you have to _prove_ it. Don't hit up every pretty girl who glances your way. Back up your words with deeds. I think you'll both be a lot happier that way."

   He sighed heavily. "Old habits die hard, ya know," he grumbled.

   "Yeah. But they _can_ die. And yours had better. Charley's willing to put up with a lot of bullshit but even she has her limits."

   His smile was faint, but hopeful. "Yeah, I got that."

   Alley nodded and straightened, winced at the stiffness in her side. She'd been standing for too long. "We should both go back to bed." She glanced out at the living room. "Preferably before we wake everyone else up. I don't know how they're still sleeping as it is."

   "Aw, those guys." Vinnie scoffed. "They could sleep through a tornado. Well, Stoker wouldn't, but he ain't here. Got his own place to sleep."

   "And he didn't invite you rowdy lot?" She smirked. "How inconsiderate of him."

   "Aw, go to bed." He pulled a face at her. She grinned and rummaged the pantry on her way out, decided on a pack of graham crackers to settle her growling stomach until breakfast.

   "Hey, Alley-girl?"

   "Yeah?"

   Vinnie shifted, awkward again. "Think maybe you could, you know. Help me plan a real nice date for Charley? You seem like you're pretty good at stuff like this."

   "It's pretty basic knowledge, actually. Just put a little effort in." But she couldn't resist his wide, hopeful eyes, even less his crooked smile or the bashful way he hunched his shoulders. He reminded her of a little kid, asking for a treat he knew he didn't really deserve. She huffed softly, instantly caving. No wonder Charley had fallen so hard for this guy. He could be pretty sweet when his obnoxious mouth wasn't getting in the way. "Okay, fine," she grudgingly conceded. "Not like I've got much going on for the next couple of months. I guess I could help you throw something together. In the meantime, try to stay away from Gunner and start paying more attention to Charley. It might help smooth things over a bit. And apologize for real! Even _you_ can manage a sincere 'I'm sorry', can't you?"

   His grin stretched ear to ear as he snapped to attention and offered a playful salute. "You got it, chief!"

   She rolled her eyes. "Weirdo." But she found herself smiling as she headed back to her room.

* * *

   She didn't see much of Carbine over the next week. Of course it was too much to hope for that the general would pack it in and fly back to Mars, but at least she was going out of her way to avoid the garage. That was easy enough; reports of increasing activity in the Pits and new movement in Detroit from the Plutarkian station kept everyone out, pulling extra patrol shifts to keep things under control. On top of attempting to drive back the various crime bosses who kept poking their noses out from under their rocks, the mice also hadn't given up on hunting down Limburger. It seemed they didn't quite believe he was dead. They'd searched every sewer and waterway around the city, but hadn't discovered more than several chewed-up strips of fabric that turned out to be the remains of his suit. But that didn't mean he was dead. No body, no proof.

   Alley would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. Limburger had nearly murdered her once; if he still lived, who was to say he wouldn't come back and try to finish the job? After all, because of her, he'd lost his entire empire, was essentially a war criminal on the run. If he was found, Stoker explained, he'd be arrested and dragged back to Mars, tried, convicted, and most likely executed. If he somehow succeeded in escaping back to his own planet, he'd probably be stripped of all his ranking and tossed out to live among the undesirables, possibly even killed. Plutarkians didn't take kindly to failures.

   In other words, he was a guy who had nothing left to lose, which made him even more dangerous than he'd been before. Alley could only hope he was dead. Or, at the very least, be so busy trying to save his own miserable life that he didn't have the time or inclination to focus on _hers_ anymore.

   On Thursday morning, she wandered to the kitchen for some breakfast, and was startled to find the entire Martian crew spread out in the living room. It was the first time in a week they'd all been gathered at once; she'd almost forgotten how much _space_ their large bodies took up.

   She paused, unsure what to do. She had a therapy session scheduled in an hour, and her stomach complained loudly for food, but the mice appeared to be in the middle of a very intense discussion that she was loathe to interrupt. Carbine seemed to be doing most of the talking, and she was doing it in Martian. Alley had no idea what she was saying, but she sure didn't _sound_ happy. The others matched her words with varying expressions of concern, and the tension in the air felt thick enough to chew on.

   An unexpected hand landed on Alley's shoulder, making her jump and yip in surprise. "Sorry," Charley muttered. "Let's go downstairs for a bit, yeah?"

   Alley followed her cousin down to the garage; the mice hadn't even glanced their way during the short exchange, which meant something big was going down. They only got _that_ focused when things took a turn for the serious. "What happened?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity. "Did they find Limburger's new hideout?"

   "Not exactly." Charley leaned against her tool chest, ran a hand through her mussed hair. "Carbine received a message from the Fighters' command station last night, demanding her immediate return to Mars. It seems one of the smaller, outlying communities was recently attacked. Damages are … extensive."

   Alley's eyes widened. "Plutarkians?"

   "No." Charley's frown deepened. "In regards to resources, things are pretty dire up there. For _everyone_ on the planet, not just the mice. Water is almost non-existent, which means food is, too. The community was one of the few that housed these supplies, along with stores of fuel. Sand Raiders and rats are the suspected culprits in the raid. Although the community was guarded, somehow they found a way in. A well-hidden path, to be used for emergency evacuation in situations like … well, just like that." Her frown vanished in favor of a tight, grim smile. "Which means there's another spy in the ranks who knew about the escape route, and likely led the enemy straight to it. There were four guards stationed, who didn't even have time to sound an alarm or call for backup."

   Alley shook her head. "Why so few? You'd think with commodities _that_ valuable they'd house half the army in the place to guard them!"

   "It was a civilian village, located outside of the military compound." Charley sighed heavily. "A large amount of soldiers guarding one community that housed nothing but the elderly and children would definitely look suspicious. I believe they were attempting to _not_ draw unwanted attention to the place. Most of the soldiers are out fighting the Plutarkians, anyway. Very few able-bodied mice are left to defend the villages."

   "There were casualties, weren't there?"

   "I believe so, yes. A few abductions, as well. The Sand Raiders are big into slavery."

   Alley shuddered. "How do you even _know_ all this?" She eyeballed her cousin suspiciously. "You seem to have a good grasp on that Martian coding crap. Do you _speak_ it, too?"

   That surprised a laugh out of Charley. "I've picked up a few words here and there, but definitely not enough to translate an entire conversation. Carbine filled me in on what happened this morning before the meeting." She offered a faint smile. "Looks like you'll be getting your wish. The good general will be leaving for Mars soon."

   "Oh, happy day." It was a shame her wish had come at such a heavy cost. It sucked any joy she would've gleaned from the news right out of it

   Charley hesitated. "I'm pretty sure … Stoker will be going back, too."

   Alley managed to school her expression as her stomach dropped into her feet. "Well, it had to happen sometime, right? I mean, he's only visiting."

   Charley fixed her with a knowing look. "Ya know, Uncle Chuck was _awful_ nosy about the guys. He told me he'd walked in on you and Stoker doin' the 'mind-walking thing'. Asked a lot of questions about the process, and about Stoke in particular." She tilted her head as a grin twitched around her lips. "Now, what _exactly_ did he walk in on that made him so curious about that guy, hmmm?"

   Alley focused on her hands and did her best to ignore the hot blush creeping up her neck. Her fingers looked much better now, she noted. The swelling had gone down and the angry red cuts where the splinters had embedded themselves had healed into nothing but faint white marks, likely due to her faithful application of Stoker's smelly miracle cream. Most importantly, the pins-and-needles feeling had faded and her therapeutic exercises definitely seemed to be helping with the nerve damage. She could now hold a water glass without fear of dropping it.

   Charley seemed to realize that her cousin wasn't going to open up about this particular subject, so she opened the chest and rummaged around for the needed tools before turning to the dismantled body of a 1954 Chevy pickup a customer had dropped off. Alley made herself comfortable in the desk chair, spinning idly as she blinked sleepily up at the ceiling. Her stomach growled loudly.

   Charley snickered. "Go fix some breakfast. I can hear you from over here," she ordered, voice laced with amusement.

   "What, and disrupt General Fusspot's top-secret meeting?" Alley snorted. "She'll probably court-martial me."

   "It'd be nice if you two could get along, you know."

   "I agree. But as she blames me for her current single status, I think that'll happen the same day it snows in Hell."

   Charley smirked. "Have you tried, I dunno, _apologizing_ for stealing her guy?"

   Alley sat up. "I _didn't_ steal her guy. And why is it my fault, anyhow? Whatever issues they had in their relationships were goin' on _way_ before I showed up. And as memory serves, _he's_ the one who came on to _me_. Both times! But you don't see her going around glaring daggers into _his_ back whenever they're in the same room together."

   "Oh, I'm sure she's finding subtly diabolical ways to punish him, as well. After all, she outranks him. And she has no issues with reminding anyone of it." Charley shook her head, smile tight. "Honestly, she's been less than pleasant to everyone this entire trip. I think the stress of her new post is seriously starting to wear on her. Trust me, you won't be the only one relieved to see her go. So don't feel too singled out."

   They fell into silence again as Charley got back to work and Alley contemplated the effort it would take to climb the stairs and fix herself a bowl of cereal. Just as she'd decided to get up, the sound of an engine met her ears. It cut off, and the silence was disrupted shortly by a sudden, frantic pounding against the garage doors. Startled, Charley dropped her wrench.

   "Somebody's in a hurry. Think maybe some hotshot lawyer dinged his Beamer?" Alley quipped.

   Charley shrugged, yanked the biggest wrench in her collection free of its weighted umbrella stand, and hefted it over her shoulder. She tensed, ready for a potential fight, slapped her hand against the door control to raise it up … and immediately relaxed again when a slight figure in a bright purple tutu skirt slipped under the door.

   "Morning, ladies! I come bearing donuts! And, oh yeah, just in case anyone's been wondering, I _totally_ know where Limburger is!" Chex beamed as she held up two bulging takeout bags. "Anyone hungry? I got dibs on the Boston creme."

 


	37. Thirty-Seven

   Alley exchanged glances with her cousin before Charley abruptly turned and headed for the stairs with a quick, "Be right back."

   Chex blinked after her. "Where's she going?"

   "To get the guys, I think. They're all upstairs holding a meeting." Alley opened one of the takeout bags and poked through the offerings before she settled on an apple turnover. She glanced at her friend, hopeful. "So, when you say you _found_ Limburger … do you mean his _body_ , by chance?"

   Chex chuckled. "Not unless it can get up and walk around by itself." She didn't notice the way Alley slumped in disappointment as she rummaged through the large tote bag that was slung over her shoulder. She unearthed a rolled-up newspaper and looked up with a grin. "Actually, wouldn't a zombified alien fish-man be kind've cool? D'ya think he'd go after human brains, or just stick with trout or something?"

   Alley snickered despite herself, and was answered with more chuckles from the staircase as the mice trooped down the steps. Vinnie and Rimfire nearly tripped over their own feet to reach the desk first. "Is it true?" the youngest mouse asked breathlessly, eyes wide. "Did you really find Limburger?"

   "Can't be!" Vinnie scoffed. "We been searchin' for Lard Butt for _weeks_ an' didn't find so much as a scale!"

   "Then you haven't been looking in the right places." Chex tossed a takeout bag toward him and slapped her paper on the desk. "Get a load of _this_."

   The gang crowded around. "'Real-Life Creature from Black Lagoon Spotted'," Alley read aloud. She paused and raised an eyebrow. "Chex, this is a _tabloid_."

   "Yup!" Chex bit into her Boston creme donut, unconcerned. " _Star Struck_ is the most popular tabloid on the market right now."

   "Yeah, last week's headline was 'An Alien Ate My Baby'," Vinnie scoffed. "Pretty intense readin', there."

   "You disrupted our meeting for a _tabloid_?" Carbine definitely did not sound pleased. She fixed a sharp glare on Chex. "I don't appreciate having my time wasted."

   Alley bristled, ready to rush to her friend's defense, but the redhead seemed unfazed, calmly sucking chocolate frosting off her fingers as she slid a cool glance in the general's direction. "Can the hostility, Toots. I'm doin' you guys a favor." She tapped the paper, leaving a chocolatey smear behind. "Stop sniping about the headline and look at the _picture_."

   The picture turned out to be a full-page shot of a bunch of trees. Beyond those trees stretched a wide body of water, and the surprisingly clear image of a head and torso had been captured in it, bare to the waist. It stood in profile, and was very obviously _not_ human. Scaled green skin, translucent fins on its head and running the length of its spine, and a webbed hand outstretched toward the bank, as if the creature had been readying to pull itself out of the water as the photographer had taken the shot.

   "See? I _dare_ you to tell me that ain't a Plutarkian!" Chex's tone radiated smugness.

   The mice exchanged uncertain glances. "Could be faked," Gunner suggested.

   "True. The earthers have pretty good photo technology these days," Stoker agreed.

   "It isn't faked!" Clearly disgruntled by their lack of excitement, Chex crossed her arms and pouted. "My pal Buzzkill took that pic himself, I'll have you know. _Star Struck_ paid him like seven hundred bucks for it. It's legit!"

   "And we're supposed to trust the word of some stranger named _Buzzkill_?" Gunner scoffed.

   "That's just his online handle. His real name is Frank Harris. He's an exterminator. He kills bugs and shit. _Buzz-_ kill. Get it? It's a _joke_."

   "And where did you meet this Frank Harris?" Carbine asked with a suspicious frown. "Do you know him personally, or is he just a stranger on the internet?"

   Chex squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, uh…" She glanced at Stoker. "He's, uh, one of the Mouseketeers, actually."

   Carbine abruptly choked on her donut. The trio grumbled with renewed disgust and Alley snickered at them.

   "Thought you were told about that," Stoker tsked.

   "They're my friends!" Chex protested. "And I haven't told them _anything_ about you guys! I ain't _stupid_. I've just been keeping an eye on things. I figure if they started getting too close to the truth and all I could kind've, you know, misdirect 'em. I was _trying_ to help you keep your secrets."

   When the mice continued to look doubtful, she added, "Besides, I _have_ met a lot of the group in person, including Buzzkill. He's got a wife and like four kids. He owns his exterminator business. And he's an outdoor nut. Likes to go camping on weekends, and that's where he took that pic. He was hiking and happened to see Limburger and grabbed the shot with his phone. Then he hightailed it out of dodge and went straight to _Star Struck_. Best pic they ever got. He was braggin' all about it on the forum last night, and I figured you'd all want to know, so I grabbed a copy and rushed over here first thing."

   "I dunno, guys." Charley picked up the tabloid to examine it more closely. "It might not be much, but it's definitely more than we've had to go on so far. And that _definitely_ looks like a Plutarkian."

   "But we've searched everywhere outside of Chicago in a fifty mile radius!" Modo protested. "If ol' Lard Butt's still been skulkin' around all this time, we should've picked up _somethin'_."

   "You haven't been looking _far_ enough." Chex shook her head, bobbed hair swinging about her face. "He's not even in the same state anymore. That pic was taken in Tennessee."

   "Tennessee!" Startled glances all around. "Why the hell's he all the way down _there_?" Vinnie complained.

   "Maybe he wanted to visit Graceland," Modo quipped.

   Vinnie snorted. "He don't seem like much of an Elvis fan." He grinned. "He's definitely headin' for Dollywood!" Groans all around as Modo smacked the back of the head.

   Alley worried a lip as a thought occurred. Stoker noticed. "You got an idea, honey?"

   She glanced at him, surprised at being singled out. "Well, could it be that he's … headed south?" she hedged.

   "What's in the south?" Rimfire cocked his head. "Another Plutarkian base?"

   She shook her head. "The Gulf of Mexico."

   Silence. And then, "Explain," Carbine commanded.

   Alley drummed her fingers as she considered. "It's just … this looks like a river to me." She tapped the paper. "The Mississippi River runs through Illinois and Tennessee, all the way down to the coast. It empties right into the Gulf of Mexico. What if Limburger's trying to escape that way? I mean, if _I_ was a giant alien fish on the run, I'd hightail it to the deepest water I could find to hide out in for awhile."

   "You think he's headed for the ocean," Throttle muttered, expression grim.

   Alley nodded. "Yeah, and if he makes it there, you guys'll probably never find him again. Oceans make up like seventy percent of the earth."

   " _Cheese,_ " Vinnie breathed softly, as the implications hit home.

   "Now, hold on." Charley held up a hand. "Can Plutarkians even _breathe_ saltwater? I mean, we know Limburger can breathe freshwater, sure, but on this planet at least, if you tossed freshwater fish into a saltwater tank, they'd all die."

   "Unless it's a bull shark," Alley muttered. "Bull sharks can survive in freshwater without any problem. They've been found living in lakes miles from the nearest ocean, 'cause they used a river and _swam_ there." She shot a pleading look around the group. " _Please_ tell me Plutarkians aren't like bull sharks."

   Stoker grunted. "Wish we could, but the truth is there hasn't been much study done on Plutarkian physiology. Never was a cause for it. Just to play it safe, we should probably assume Limburger's a bull shark. And if you're right, he's aimin' for a getaway through the Gulf. And he's got a hell of a head start on us. He might already have made it to the coast." He looked decidedly unhappy at the prospect.

   "Relax. I don't think he'll get anywhere fast. You're not the only ones hunting him anymore." Chex flipped open the tabloid to a certain page, tapped an advertisement. "Look. Says right here that _Star Struck's_ offering a thousand bucks to anyone who can grab more shots of the 'Mississippi Monstro'." She rolled her eyes and air-quoted. "Gives the general location of where he was first spotted, so _that_ part of the river'll probably be swarming with wannabe monster hunters for miles each way. With any luck, the Purple People Eater won't be able to poke a fin out without _somebody_ gettin' a look. News like that'll spread quick, too. And then it won't just be amateur photographers he's gotta worry about. Trophy hunters might start showing up." She mimed aiming a gun and shooting.

   "Assumin' he don't just leave the river completely," Modo rumbled.

   "Where's he gonna go?" Chex wrinkled her nose. "He's like … _naked_."

   Immediate shudders all around. Vinnie desperately latched onto Stoker and clamped his hands around his vest. "Quick! Scrub my mind," he whimpered. "Before that brain vomit leeches into my _eyeballs_!"

   Stoker snorted and wrestled him into a headlock, playfully ground his knuckles into the top of Vinnie's head. "Sure thing, punk. Just as soon as I'm finished scrubbin' it outta mine."

   "You big pussies." Chex rolled her eyes. "My point is, what can he do, hop a bus to the nearest airport? Book a flight to the east coast or something?" She ticked off points on her fingers. "He's wanted as a Plutarkian war criminal. He's _also_ wanted as a human mafia boss. His empire has crumbled, his assets are all seized, I _doubt_ he has any allies he can safely rely on… Lawrence Limburger is in deep shit no matter _what_ he does."

   "So what do _we_ do?" Vinnie questioned. He punched a fist into his palm. "Man, the thought of Lard Butt gettin' away while _we're_ all here pussyfootin' around tryin' ta decide the best course of action just—"

   " _Easy_ there, Vincent." Throttle clapped a hand on his agitated brother's shoulder. "We'll come up with a plan. Now we've got a good idea of his location, it shouldn't be too hard to sniff that stinkfish out. We have two working ships here that can—"

   "Negative," Carbine cut in sharply, earning surprised stares all around. She'd been surprisingly silent during the entire debate, but her expression had hardened into a grim, determined line that the group could recognize all too well. "The _plan_ is for myself and my crew to return to Mars immediately. _With_ Stoker and his Regenerator. We are needed up there."

   "So you're just gonna let Limburger get _away_?" Vinnie yelped over the protests of both Modo and Throttle.

   "Because I'm not certain that this entire story isn't just some elaborate ruse to lead us all into a trap!" she snapped.

   Chex's eyes narrowed as she fixed a hard glare on the general. "Are you saying you think I made all this _up_?"

   Carbine met her gaze squarely. "Precisely."

   Her glower deepened. "If you don't believe me, go check out the grocery stores or any news stand on the street! There're _plenty_ more copies where this came from. Or maybe you, I dunno, think I bribed the entire staff of _Star Struck_ to run a fake article? Gosh, you sure caught me!"

   "Or maybe Limburger deliberately allowed himself to be seen, knowing we'd come running after him, straight to where he wants us. And you, conveniently showing up to make sure we got wind of the news." Carbine's cool expression never faltered as uncertain glances were exchanged, shadowed with the faintest trace of growing suspicion.

   Chex's mouth worked for several moments. "Y-you're _insane_ , lady," she finally spat.

   "Am I?" Carbine studied her with a curious tilt to the head. "Then tell me something. How is it that _you_ know what a Plutarkian looks like?"

   Chex stiffened. "Wh-what?"

   Alley shifted, cast an uneasy glance around the group as she noted the growing doubt on their faces. She knew she needed to rush to her friend's defense, but her mind had gone blank. She could only listen, transfixed, as Carbine continued, "Lawrence Limburger has never appeared in the public eye without his human disguise. It makes me wonder how and when _you've_ seen him without his mask, to have recognized him so easily in this picture. When would you have had the opportunity to observe him in his _true_ appearance?"

   Chex stammered for a reply as her face flushed a hue that nearly matched her hair. "Well—I mean—Plutarkians are giant _fish_ people," she sputtered. "What _else_ would a fish person look like? Do you think I'd expect him to sprout feathers and hooves? And how many of them do you think we _got_ , runnin' loose around this planet? Who else could it be _but_ Limburger?"

   "Carbine, what're you tryin' to get at?" Throttle asked, an edge to his voice.

  Alley finally shook herself out of her trance and straightened. "Your _esteemed_ general suspects Chex of espionage." She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered. "She thinks _she's_ the reason the Regenerator plan failed."

   Chex gaped at her. "Wh-what? How come? I didn't have anything to do with that!"

   "But, aside from all of us, you're the only one who knew," Gunner pointed out. Doubt and suspicion rang clear in her voice.

   "No, I believe her brother was also aware," Carbine corrected. "Perhaps we should see about getting him here, as well?"

   "You leave Chris out of this!" Alley snapped. "He'd _never_ do something that rotten! He sure wouldn't put me in danger like that! And neither would Chex!"

   "Then, clearly, she must have told someone who would." Carbine was obviously not about to back down on the subject, keeping Chex pinned with her hard stare. "Perhaps these _friends_ you mentioned? You speak with them often, I presume. Who's to say you didn't _accidentally_ let something slip to one of them."

   And there it was. The briefest hesitation, a flicker of fear gone as quickly as it had come. "I didn't tell _anyone_ ," Chex insisted. Voice hard, but holding the barest quaver.

   And Throttle suddenly straightened, a deep frown crossing his features, and that was when Alley noticed that he had oh-so-subtly brushed his fingers against Chex's bare arm. Her stomach turned to lead, even as the golden mouse looked Chex in the eye and shook his head with an air of disappointment. "You're lying," he told her quietly.

   Chex drew in a sharp breath as all the color slowly drained from her face. Alley's eyes widened, even as Carbine gave a brief, subtle nod. Instantly, Gunner stepped forward, took Chex's arms in an iron grip to hold her.

   "Wh-what're you doing? Let me _go_!" Chex squawked as she struggled futilely in the female's tight grasp.

   Alley hurried forward, intent on helping her friend, only to find her path blocked by Rimfire. "Get out of my way," she snapped.

   He ignored her attempts to shove him aside and met her gaze, expression torn. "Sorry, Alley Ma'am," he murmured quietly. "This is a matter for the Freedom Fighters now."

   "You can't do this!" She tried again to shove Rimfire to the side, but even though he was the shortest of the males, he was still too big to succumb to her weak attempts. Her damaged arm stung with the effort. She glared at the other mice. "What're you all just _standing_ there for?" she cried. " _Help_ her!"

   "Don't!" Carbine snapped. "She is a suspect of high treason and will be questioned as such. You will _not_ interfere. That's an order!"

   Throttle, Vinnie, and Modo nearly vibrated with open frustration, not bothering to hide their glares. But they made no move to help Chex. "Sorry, Alley-girl. Can't disobey a direct order from the _general_ ," Vinnie spat, mouth twisted into an ugly sneer.

   "Even though your _general_ is clearly out of her _fucking mind_?" Alley snarled, earning more than one open-mouthed stare at the vicious curse. She turned her pleading gaze to Stoker. "This is wrong. You _know_ it is. There's no _proof_ that she did anything!"

   Stoker sighed heavily, ran a hand through his hair as he lowered his gaze. "No proof," he agreed, voice quiet and serious. "But—"

   Alley went cold, the blood freezing to ice in her veins.

   "—I'm not entirely inclined to disagree with Carbine's suspicions, either." When Alley started to protest he held up a hand. "Chex _did_ lie, Alley. I felt it, too. She knows … _something_. And we need to know what that something is."

   "You'll question her," Carbine commanded. "If she won't answer willingly, search her mind."

   " _No!_ " Chex cried, even as Charley stepped forward with a sharp, "That's _enough_."

   Carbine frowned. "I'm sorry, but this doesn't—"

   "It _does_. This is _my_ home. You're a _guest_ here," Charley bit out. "Carbine, I consider you a friend, but Alley's not wrong. Have you completely lost your _mind_? Since when do the Freedom Fighters resort to … to terroristic tactics to glean information?" She switched her sharp gaze to Stoker. "Didn't you form the Fighters because you were trying to fight _against_ this sort of behavior in the army? Isn't that why you defected in the first place? You're supposed to be the _good_ guys!"

   Stoker had the grace to look sheepish. Charley turned back to the general. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you going to turn this into another incident like the one on Mars?" she asked softly. "Execute first, search for proof _after_ the fact?"

   "Th-that was a completely different situation!" Carbine's ears flushed dull pink under the thin fur.

   "No. It wasn't." Charley shook her head. "It's exactly the same sort of situation. You're making accusations based on nothing but guesswork and assumption, and I can't help believing that your better judgment's been compromised due to … situations." Her gaze flickered between Alley and Throttle.

   The blush deepened. "That has nothing to do with this!" Carbine snapped. "And if you don't wish to help us, that's fine. I'll respect your wishes. I'll take the prisoner to my ship and question her there, instead."

   "Like _hell_ you will!"

   Before Rimfire could react, Alley headbutted him. He grunted in pain and surprise as her forehead met his snout, and she darted past, ignoring the sting where his teeth had caught her temple. She grabbed a wrench off the desk, flung it directly at Gunner's startled face. The mouse stumbled back, hands instinctively flying up to protect herself. Chex slipped free and scrambled away, nearly tripping over her own feet. She was shaking, face ashen and eyes wide with terror. She looked as if she might faint at any second. All the fight had been knocked clean out of her. Alley grabbed her hand and yanked her behind her body, ignored the lance of pain that shot through her injured side. Then she raised the blaster she'd filched out of Rimfire's holster and aimed it directly at Carbine. "You keep the _hell_ away from my friend!" she hissed.

   Her hands shook, badly. Her entire _body_ shook, a heady rush of adrenaline and fury. She could hardly hold the gun steady, and it was heavier than it looked; in her weakened state, she could hardly lift it properly. Pain throbbed dully, like a heartbeat, in her injured bicep. She backed slowly toward the stairs, urging a zoned-out Chex to proceed her.

   "Alley, are you _crazy_?" Charley groaned as she rubbed a hand over her face. "Who do you plan to shoot with that thing?"

   "Hopefully nobody. Although I sure wouldn't mind putting a few plugs into psycho bitch right now!" Alley released a high-pitched laugh. It sounded a bit hysterical, even to her own ears. Her pulse raced. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts through clenched teeth. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized something was wrong. She was hyperventilating. And why was it suddenly so _hot?_ A trickle of sweat worked its way down her temple. Dripped in her eye. No, not sweat. _Blood._ She must have cut herself when she'd hit Rimfire.

   "Alley, honey, put down the blaster," Stoker crooned as he stepped forward, hand extended. "You don't wanna hurt—"

   " _You!_ " She swung it at him, nearly unbalancing herself. She was _furious_. "You, don't even _talk_ to me right now. You were gonna let her—And I _trusted_ you!"

   He fell silent, expression shuttered, and backed away, hands extended, placating.

   She swung her glare and the blaster back to Carbine. "You know, I've put up with a lot of shit since I got here," she seethed. "All I wanted was to come visit my favorite cousin and attend college and just have a good, fun life! Instead, I end up falling smack-dab into the middle of a damned _science fiction_ novel! Aliens and planetary warfare and … and _everything else._ " She swung a brief, bitter glance toward Throttle. "I almost freakin' _died_ for _your_ stupid planet and you don't even have the courtesy to _thank_ me! Well, _you're welcome_!" Carbine opened her mouth to reply but Alley didn't give her the chance. "Look, you don't like me. I _get_ that. I even understand it! If I'd caught my guy with some other woman, I'd be pretty damned pissed, too. But whatever your beef is with me, it's _with me_. Chex has nothing to do with it, and you're nothing but a damned _coward_ to take your frustration with me out on _her_!"

   "Alley…" Chex said softly from the stairs.

   Alley ignored her. "You don't _really_ think Chex has anything to do with Limburger," she accused. "You're just using her to try and get at me!"

   "Alley," Chex said again, and her voice held a trace of urgency.

   "And if _she_ wasn't here," Alley ranted, "I bet you'd use _Charley_ to try and get back at me, instead! Because that's just how spiteful and vindictive you are!"

   " _Alley!_ " Chex finally drew the hysterical blonde's attention, pointed a shaking finger at her. "Y-you're bleeding," she stuttered.

   Alley blinked at her, glanced down at herself. At the crimson stain spreading slowly over her shirt and the top of her jeans, the bandages beneath already soaked through with blood. The adrenaline and fury abruptly fled, driven out by a sudden flood of _agony_ that made her head spin and her vision gray around the edges. Her arms fell limply to her side, the blaster tumbled from suddenly nerveless fingers. "Oh," she uttered softly, as a great, white roaring filled her ears and her graying vision faded to black.


	38. Thirty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the extra long delay. I got sidetracked for awhile, but here is the next chapter!

   It all happened so _fast_.

   One moment, Chex was tripping backward up the staircase while a near-hysterical Alley followed, waving around a gun that looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie (and where did she even _get_ that thing, anyway?). In the next, the blaster had dropped to the floor and Chex was lunging to catch her friend as she dropped right after it.

   Before she knew it, she found herself sprawled across the bottom stairs with a lap full of unconscious, bleeding blonde. She blinked dazedly at Alley's lolling head for a few moments, wondering what just happened. Then she felt something hot and slick coating her arm and hand and her stomach lurched with horrified realization _Blood!_

   She couldn't handle the _sight_ of blood very well, much less actually _touching_ it. Especially when it belonged to someone else. It took every bit of willpower she possessed to keep from bodily shoving Alley off her lap in disgust. "Somebody _take_ her!" she shrieked, panicked. The words barely left her mouth before Stoker appeared like magic, hefted the girl from her body and barked several orders as he pounded up the stairs.

   The garage erupted into chaos, but Chex hardly noticed. She couldn't hear much over the dull roar that pounded away inside her eardrums. She just gaped stupidly at her bloodied hand as her mind went blank. The edge of a step dug painfully into her lower back, but she hardly noticed that, either. Her entire attention had honed to a narrow point, fixed on the dark, wet stains that marred the electric blue mesh of her gloves, nearly black against the brilliant color. Her fingers were painted crimson, and the nausea returned to stick like a wad of glue at the back of her throat. Her hands shook as she rubbed them together, uselessly trying to wipe them clean. Her vision wavered and blurred and she blinked and wondered when she'd started to cry. She _never_ cried.

   Some part of her remained aware of an awful lot of background noise. Raised voices, heavy booted feet stomping about, the rumble of engines. And then silence. Still she sat, blinking away an annoying stream of tears that refused to ebb and wondering how everything had gone so _wrong._

   She startled violently when a big, gray hand suddenly slid into her field of vision, easily covered both of hers to still their incessant rubbing. She turned watery eyes up to Modo's concerned gaze, struggled to find speech. "I-it w-won't come o-off," she tried to explain, but her tongue felt like a wadded-up gym sock stuffed in her mouth, thick and useless, threatening to choke her.

   He understood, though, and tugged gently on her hands until she stumbled to her feet and allowed him to lead her to a large utility sink in the far corner of the garage. He turned on the tap, drew her hands under the stream, and the chill of it slowly brought her out of her daze, cleared her mind a little. She watched with a sort of morbid fascination how the water ran pink as it drizzled between her crooked fingers.

   "You okay?" Modo finally asked, deep voice low and soothing.

   She nodded shakily. Rubbed her hands harder under the water. He stilled her movements, peeled the wet gloves off her arms to rinse them in the stream. "They'll need a proper washin'," he rumbled. "Probably yer clothes, too. She sorta bled on ya a bit." Chex shuddered, nodded again, watched as the last of the blood flushed away. "You might wanna clean your face a little," he suggested tactfully. She blinked slowly, glanced up to catch her reflection in the dirty, cracked mirror on the wall over the sink. Streaks of gray and black mascara marred her wet cheeks, ringed her bloodshot eyes. She pulled a face, yanked several paper towels from the dispenser and wet them to vigorously scrub at her face until most of the makeup was gone, then blew her reddened nose for measure. See? _This_ was what crying got you. A dirty face and runny nose.

   "Thanks," she mumbled once she'd finished, weirdly embarrassed and unable to look him in the eye. It felt like her entire psyche had just been scrubbed down with rough sandpaper, left raw and exposed. And her face felt strange without the heavy makeup coating it. Like her skin could breathe easier or something. What was wrong with her, anyway? She needed to pull herself together. This whole damsel-in-distress act was Alley's schtick; _she_ was _nobody's_ distressed damsel.

   She took a deep breath and straightened, made a careful act of patting down her tattered skirts and smoothed her hair. It was hard to stand tall when standing next to a furry giant, though. Right now, she felt more like one of Snow White's dwarves. The silent, dopey one. "So, uh, where'd everyone go?" she asked as she belatedly realized the garage had been all but abandoned.

   Modo released a long breath, leaned against the wall with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops, one leg crossed in front of the other. The very picture of a heavy-metal cowboy. "Charley Ma'am decided it'd be best for everyone to clear out an' cool their heads for awhile," he drawled. A tight smile crossed his face. "Things were gettin' kind've intense."

   Chex rubbed an eye and stared at the floor. Remembering the way everyone had _looked_ at her—like she was some kind of a traitor or something—caused the sour lump in her throat to tighten further. Footsteps sounded over her head, and a door banged. "Is … Alley gonna be okay?" she forced out. She gazed at her bared arms, now clean of all traces of blood, but she still remembered what it _felt_ like, warm and slimy on her skin. Her stomach heaved, threatened to expel the donuts she'd eaten earlier. She hastily stuck her hands behind her back and wished she hadn't also gulped down that jumbo-sized coffee on the way over. The massive caffeine jolt sure wasn't doing her nerves a lot of good.

   "Alley-girl likely just popped her stitches, is all," Modo assured her. "Stoke'll fix her right up. He's real good at that sorta thing."

   She nodded, unconvinced. It had looked like a _lot_ of blood.

   Silence fell between them until Modo shifted and cleared his throat. "So, y'know what always fixes _me_ right up on a bad day is a long, relaxin' ride. You maybe wanna … clear on out of here for awhile like Charley Ma'am said, an' get some fresh air?"

   She blinked at him a few times until her brain finally processed his request. Then she blinked a few more, stunned. "A-are you asking me to take a ride with you?"

   He shrugged, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "You been after one, ain't ya? One-time offer, here."

   It was almost too tempting to resist, but if there was one thing Chex had learned, when something _seemed_ too good to be true, it usually _was_. She couldn't hide her obvious suspicion when she asked, "How am I supposed to believe you ain't just gonna drive me straight up to that Carbine chick so ya'll can hold me down and … and _mind rape_ me like she was sayin'?"

   "Hey, now. Easy!" He held up his hands, expression wounded, just a bit offended. "That's a pretty vile word, there."

   "Don't make it any less accurate!" she snapped, and was satisfied to see him flinch.

   He blew out a breath, offered a small smile. "Come on, now. It's just me. Ol' Modo. You really think I'd do somethin' like that to you?"

   She frowned and looked away, pissed to feel the sting of more tears pricking her eyes. _Stop acting like such a damned crybaby_. "I dunno _what_ I think," she mumbled. "It sure wasn't that I'd be stumblin' into the Spanish Inquisition when I drove over here this morning." She boldly met his gaze, eyes narrowed. "I was just tryin' to help you out. And not a single _one_ of you even _tried_ to return the favor."

   He chuffed out another breath, ears drooping. "Come on, Miss Chex. Try an' look at it from _our_ point. Carbine's the general of the Freedom Fighters! She outranks every one of us, even Stoker, an' she takes her job seriously. If anyone had stepped in an' tried to stop her, she would've accused _us_ of high treason. Things would've ended up a lot worse than they did."

   "What, you mean with Alley goin' off the deep end and threatening to _shoot_ all you crazy bastards?"

   Modo shifted, uncomfortable. "That was a bad deal," he admitted. "An' I gotta have a talk with my nephew about blaster safety. If he'd had it holstered in proper, she never would've gotten it away from him that easy."

   Chex considered his words quietly for a few moments as a frown pulled at her lips. "Would Carbine really have accused you of treason?" she finally asked, doubtful.

   He snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time. She's got a bad habit of shootin' first, askin' questions later. Ain't changed much, I guess."

   She shook her head, bemused. "That chick is crazy. How'd _she_ make general?"

   Modo just shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the discussion. "She does what she's gotta do for the sake of Mars. It's what makes her a good soldier. What _should_ make her a good leader." He paused to consider. "Don't mean she can't make mistakes, though," he conceded.

   Chex thought it over for a few more moments, decided to do what she'd always done, and just go with her gut. It had never let her down before, and right now it was telling her that Modo wasn't the type for subterfuge. So, she offered a weak smile to her fuzzy hero and asked, "So, uh, you still up for that ride you mentioned?"

   He straightened up and pasted on his most charming grin, gestured to his bike parked near the garage doors. "Right this way, li'l lady."

* * *

   Alley woke slowly, gently drawn to consciousness by a hand on her face, stroking over her hair and cheek with soft, soothing caresses. She sighed and shifted, and a fresh stab of pain in her side made her hiss as her eyes flew open in shock.

   The hand moved to her shoulder to gently but firmly hold her down. "Easy, honey. Don't try to sit up yet. Just finished stitchin' ya back together."

   She blinked sleepily at the familiar ceiling with its hairline cracks in the dingy plaster, realized she was in her bedroom. She lifted her head just far enough to find Stoker sitting beside her on the bed, eyes soft on her face as he smiled. "Welcome back."

   His hand still rested on her shoulder, fingers toying with her loosened hair. It took her a few seconds to realize that something felt … _off_. Her frown deepened. "Am I … _naked_?" A quick peek confirmed that she had indeed been stripped, right down to her underwear. And _only_ her underwear.

   Even more disconcerting, the bandages taped to her side were gone. The long, jagged wound gracing her side from hip to ribcage, once half-healed, had reopened. The skin around the scabbed cut was swollen and angry red, traced with flakes of dried blood. A row of neat, precise surgical sutures held the lips together. They were fresh; she could see the punctures where the old stitches had been removed. She noted Charley's large first-aid kit sitting at the foot of the bed, the swath of blood-soaked bandages and used thread piled on its open lid. "Wh-what happened?" she stuttered.

   "You tore your stitches, is what happened." The look he shot her was faintly disapproving.

   Her face couldn't possibly flame any hotter, she just knew it. "Yeah, I kind've got that impression," she muttered. "What I meant was _how_?"

   He studied her carefully. "You don't remember? Down in the garage—"

   She cut him off with a wave. "No, I remember. The way you were all jumping my friend for no good reason!" She shot him a dark glare, which he ignored. "Why the hell didn't you take me to the hospital?"

   "You were bleedin' too heavy. Callin' an ambulance or tryin' to drive you there ourselves might've taken too long. It was faster an' safer to sew you back up myself." His voice was carefully neutral. "Don't worry, Charley had the foresight to throw some extra blankets and towels down on your bed so you weren't bleedin' all over your sheets. Afraid your shirt's a goner, though. Had to cut it off you."

   She sighed. "Of course you did." She noted the pile of bloodied clothes on the floor. There were her shirt and jeans, stained liberally with blood. The bra and panties she still wore had also been dyed red around the edges and she grimaced at the cold, uncomfortable stickiness of them against her skin. She wondered if she'd be able to wash them out, or if she'd just have to toss everything. "This keeps up, I'm gonna have to buy a new wardrobe," she grumbled.

   He chuckled. "The good news is, your arm's still okay. Not sure how you managed _that_ , the way you were carryin' on."

   "Just lucky, I guess." She put as much sarcasm as she could muster into the words. "Where's Chex?"

   He snorted, rummaged in the med kit until he found a pack of alcohol wipes. "She's fine. Out gallivantin' around with Modo, I'd imagine."

   Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Gallivant—What?"

   "She was a little … upset by the events," he explained.

   Alley leveled her most deadpan stare. "Ya _think_?"

   He chuckled, humorless. "Modo's got it in hand."

   Her eyes widened. "He's not taking her to Carbine's ship!"

   "Nope. Dunno where everyone else went, but Charley-girl made 'em all clear out. Ain't seen her _that_ riled in a long time. Don't think Carbine's crew'll be back for awhile, if at all. Pretty sure her welcome is officially worn out."

   "About damned time," Alley grumbled, scowling. "But Chex is—You didn't—She's not—"

   Stoker met her eyes, expression serious. "She's _fine_ ," he repeated. "I've been in here stitchin' you up. 'Sides, when you went down it pretty much put an end to the interrogation."

   Alley remained silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her throat was tight and her eyes stung. "I'm still really _pissed_ at you, you know."

   "Yep, I know."

   "Why didn't you help her? _Any_ of you? The way you were talking, it sounded like you'd planned to let Carbine do whatever she wanted! You really think Chex is _lying_?"

   He met her gaze, expression serious. "Ya can't lie to an empath, honey. She's hidin' somethin' from us. Somehow, she's involved with what happened at the tower. You can believe it or not, but it don't change facts. It's essential we find the truth."

   "And you think scaring the _shit_ out of her is the way to go? Forcing yourselves into her _brain_? I thought you're supposed to be the _good_ guys. You should've told Carbine to bugger off!"

   Stoker sighed. "Carbine is our general, honey. The be-all-and-end-all of the Freedom Fighters. When she barks an order, you _obey_. Even me."

   "Excuses," she snapped. " _You're_ the one who made her general. Why can't you just demote her again? She's a little too … _unhinged_ to lead an army, don't you think? Can we say 'abuse of power'?"

   His expression sterned. "Whatever her issues, my niece is an experienced soldier who has ties to the Martian army. She used to be one of theirs, ya know. One of their best, in fact. She knows how they tick, an' it's to the Fighters' benefit to have that sort of knowledge."

   "So, threatening civilians with terroristic violence is all part of your political warfare? How does that make the Fighters any different than your army?"

   He chuffed a deep sigh, looking pained as he ran a hand through his mussed hair. "Carbine ain't wrong about Chex," he insisted, and when Alley started to protest he held up his hand to forestall her. "I don't think _you're_ wrong, either. About what you'd said, down in the garage. Carbine's judgment might be compromised due to the stress she's under." He glanced up at her, shrugged. "But if we're bein' honest, it could be mine is, too."

   Her eyebrows rose. "Meaning?"

   "Meaning what happened at the tower shouldn't've happened." He fixed her with an intense look that had caused her heart to trip in her chest. "I felt you _go out_ , Alley." His voice was low and tight, nearly burning with suppressed emotion. "I felt you die an' it scared me an' pissed me off an' all I wanna do is find the bastard responsible an' make sure they _pay_ for all the hurt they caused you." His gaze lowered and he laid his hand softly against her wounded side.

   Her skin twitched in response to the gentle touch and Alley suddenly found it difficult to think. "Limburger … is the one who hurt me," she reminded him, a bit breathless.

   "But he never would've gotten the chance if not for that call," Stoker growled. "An' if that girl is the reason why that call happened…"

   She reached down to grip the hand at her side. " _Please_ don't go after Chex anymore," she pleaded, voice choked. "If she said or did anything to tip anyone off, it was accidental. I just don't believe she'd deliberately put me in harm's way. If you're so desperate to know the truth, then … then go catch Limburger and probe _his_ mind. You've got a good bead on his location now, thanks to _Chex_ , if I might remind you."

   Stoker didn't reply as he ripped open the pack of alcohol wipes, and Alley realized the conversation was over for the moment. She considered pushing the matter, decided she was too exhausted. She instead braced against the inevitable burn as he carefully wiped the pad around and over her wound to clean and disinfect it. After a moment, she frowned, puzzled. "Why is this not hurting more?"

   "Local anesthetic. Figured it'd be better to numb the area, in case ya woke up when I was in the middle of stitchin'." He finished cleaning her up, tossed the soiled wipes onto the pile and brought out the salve she'd been using. Its pungency made her nose sting, but after a week of faithful application, she'd pretty much gotten used to the smell.

   He set about rubbing a thick coating into the wound, and Alley found the sensation of his gentle fingers massaging her skin to be _far_ more distracting than she liked to admit. She decided that some _other_ form of distraction was in order, so she asked, "Did I _really_ pull a gun on everyone?"

   He finally glanced up and when his gaze met hers, she saw the faint sparkle of mischief in his dark eyes. He clearly was aware of her discomposure— _Of_ course _he's aware. He's a touch-telepath, moron!_ _—_ but at least he had the grace not to tease her about it. "Yep," he replied easily. "But you were hardly in your right mind at the time." He shook his head in disapproval. "Me'n Rimfire need to have a chat, though. Pretty clear that pup needs a refresher course in blaster safety."

   She frowned. "I could've seriously hurt someone."

   "Not with the safety lock on, you couldn't. Least he had _that_ right." He finished applying the salve and pressed several large squares of medical gauze to her side, taped them in place before he gestured at her to sit up, which she tried with a pained grimace. Her entire _body_ felt like she'd slammed it straight into a brick wall, and she said as much. "Let this be a lesson," he teased lightly as he slipped an arm under her back to ease her up, unwound a large roll of fresh bandages to wrap her torso. "Don't pull any more o' that heroism crap until the stitches come out. Doctor's orders."

   She rolled her eyes. "Sure, Doc. Just don't give me any reason to pull it." She eased back to the pillows and sighed. "Thanks for fixing me up."

   "Anytime, honey. Need anything else?"

   She thought for a moment. "Could you send Charley in here? I _really_ wanna change my clothes." She grimaced. "What's left of them. And clean the rest of me up. I feel gross."

   "Well, I can help with that, ya know." He laughed at her glare. "Never hurts to offer." He gathered the supplies together and dumped the used materials into the wastebasket, paused to look down at her with a cocked head. "You still pissed at me, honey?" he asked softly, with just the faintest touch of hope.

   Her gaze slid from his as she worried a lip for a moment, sighed, offered a shrug and a defeated, "I'll get over it. You're too damned charming to stay mad at for long." His chuckle came husky and soft, and his hand traced her hair in a final, lingering caress before he left the room with a promise to send Charley in.


	39. Thirty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Here is your present.

   As Modo rumbled from the garage with his unexpected passenger secured behind him, he couldn't help but wonder what the heck he'd gotten himself into.

   He really had no clue as to what Charley Ma'am expected him to _do_. She had stopped scurrying around just long enough to bark a "Take care of her, big guy" at him as she pointed to Chex, then pounded up the stairs with an armload of old blankets and orders for everyone else to get the _hell_ out of her garage. Clearly, she'd had enough; she'd sounded downright _pissed_. And when Charley Ma'am was _that_ upset, you did whatever the hell she wanted, no questions asked.

   He'd hung back while the rest of the group scattered. Vinnie and Throttle took Charley's command to heart. Vinnie (surprisingly) had grabbed Rimfire and took off like a bat out of hell, leaving Gunner to make herself at home on Throttle's bike. She'd gripped the golden mouse tightly around the waist and the look on Carbine's face had been enough to send the commander roaring off like his tail was on fire, which Modo would've found hilarious if he wasn't so damned _confused_. Carbine just stood there blinking after their taillights for a few moments, expression dark as thunderclouds, before she abruptly stormed out of the garage herself and vanished around the corner.

   Where she went after that, Modo didn't know. Nor did he particularly care. He wasn't one to go around badmouthing his superiors, but for the first time he had serious doubts about Stoker's wisdom in naming his niece as his successor. Carbine had always been uptight and serious. Barking orders and sticking her nose into the thick of things just came naturally, so being promoted to general seemed like exactly the type of position in which the high-strung female could thrive. But even Modo could tell that she was slowly cracking under the immense pressure of leading the Freedom Fighters.

   Aside from himself, Chex was the only one left in the garage, still sprawled across the bottom steps with her usual floofy skirts in disarray around her. She hadn't moved an inch since falling there and seemed to be in some kind of a stupor, staring blindly at her hands with eyes so wide they threatened to drop right out of her skull. Her face had turned a sickly gray and she looked downright sick. When she abruptly began to rub her hands together with near-violent urgency, as if trying to erase the blood that had soaked into her bright blue gloves, he'd decided it was high time to intervene. He approached carefully, gently urged her up and led her to the sink. She'd followed meekly, like a lost child. He'd never seen the redhead so out of sorts and guilt started to gnaw at his conscience, knowing he and his kin were responsible for at least _some_ of her behavior.

   It was probably the guilt that had driven him to finally offer her the ride she'd been after since they'd met. He honestly had expected her to jump for joy at the suggestion. He had _not_ expected the open distrust—bordered on outright _hostility—_ when she instead voiced her suspicions about his motives. Mind rape. What an _ugly_ term. Everything in him balked, offended to the core that she'd even _think_ —

   He brought himself up short when Li'l Hoss rumbled under him, sensing his growing agitation. He didn't really have a right to be offended by Chex's words. Because if he was bein' honest, she wasn't wrong. What Carbine had commanded them to do went against everything the Freedom Fighters stood for. It seemed as if she had forgotten the very foundation of the Fighters' existence, which only made Modo doubt her abilities to actually lead them that much more. The fact that he and his bros were too … _loyal_ to stand against her, well…

   He grimaced. He wasn't used to feeling ashamed of himself. His Mama'd be layin' into him if she knew what had almost happened. _All_ of them, even Carbine, would be gettin' an earful from her. Chex was absolutely right to mistrust his motives, after what they'd almost tried to do. If not for Alley's intervention…

   He _wanted_ to think that maybe they'd have come to their senses and put a stop to it themselves. Were they all brainless robots, unable to disobey a command? But they _were_ soldiers, fighting a decades-long war. Obeying orders was what they _did_. What had been drilled into them from the moment they put on those uniforms. The Freedom Fighters weren't _the_ army, but they were _an_ army, and disobeying their superiors tended to rub their fur the wrong way and generally came with a heavy price.

   All the same… He sighed heavily. General or not, they should've intervened and stopped Carbine before things had gotten that out of hand. Alley shouldn't have had to hurt herself like that to make the situation stop. But it had all escalated so quickly, his mind was _still_ reeling from the vertigo.

   He sighed again as he pondered, felt Chex's arms tighten briefly around him from her place on the back of his bike, a silent question. He shook off the gloomy thoughts and forced his tense body to relax, determined to think of happier things. That was the whole point of this trip, wasn't it?

   He gave Li'l Hoss's crankshaft a reassuring pat, then gave her full throttle and gunned it. He cleared the city borders in record time and headed out to open road. He felt his passenger shake against him when she laughed, the sound nearly lost under the rush of the wind. He couldn't help grinning a little at her delight as he pushed his bike to its limits and tore down the highway. A good ride always did clear his head and Chex seemed to be in agreement. He could feel the tension she'd also been radiating like a furnace against his back slowly drain away as they cruised along.

   He let the bike do most of the steering, content to just sit back and enjoy the sensation of the wind ruffling through his fur. If he hadn't had a passenger, he would have removed his helmet so he could feel the morning sunlight on his face, too. But he wasn't about to put any ideas into Chex's head. He'd had a hard enough time convincing her to put on the skull cap he kept in the side compartment; she'd only agreed to wear it after he threatened to revoke his offer.

   A good forty minutes passed and Modo began to suspect Li'l Hoss had a particular destination in mind when open road gave way to residential neighborhoods. They had made a wide circle and come into a wealthy area of land located just outside of Chicago's borders. The houses grew bigger and further apart, and so did the properties that spread away from the road, their gated driveways lined with huge trees all the way up to elegant mansions built of gray and white stone or deep red brick.

   They rode along the quiet streets for awhile longer, until Li'l Hoss made a sudden turn onto an overrun driveway that was nearly hidden from the main road. One would completely miss it if one didn't know where to look. A pair of stumpy, broken posts were all that remained of the grand gate that had once guarded the entrance, half-buried beneath unkempt wilderness. The cobbled drive had not been maintained, pitted and choked with underbrush grown wild over the years. The ride was bumpy as a result, and Li'l Hoss grumbled over the excess strain on her shocks. She'd never been very fond of this trail and Modo gave her an apologetic pat and a silent promise to thoroughly clean her suspension once they returned.

   "You doin' okay back there?" he called over his shoulder. "Hang on, we're almost there."

   Chex's arms tightened briefly to let him know she'd heard, and a few moments later the driveway ended, opened into a wide, circular courtyard complete with a large, dried-up fountain in the center. Just beyond it rose the crumbling remains of what had once upon a time been a glorious mansion. It had been abandoned for decades, though, and the state of disrepair had only increased over the long years. Ivy clung to the stone walls in a thick, leafy cloak that stretched almost to the slate-shingled roof. Most of the windows were broken and vines had crept in through the cracks. A pair of large doors guarded the front entrance, one of which listed haphazardly on its hinges. High overhead, the third-floor balcony sagged dangerously in the middle, threatening collapse at any moment with two of its support pillars rotted away. Directly underneath, most of the second-floor balcony was missing altogether. The piles of splintered wood and crumbled stone that littered the ground beneath gave testament to its inevitable demise.

   Despite the decay, however, the mansion remained an impressive—if not somewhat foreboding—sight. But it wasn't why Li'l Hoss had brought them there. They circled the cracked and pitted courtyard and drove along the side of the building, finding a well-worn path through the choking weeds until they reached the back of the property and a large, quiet pond nestled among a grove of trees. The bike finally pulled to a stop just by the shoreline and Chex's arms slipped from around Modo's waist. He carefully unwound his tail and helped her off the bike. She unfastened her helmet, gazed up at him through wide eyes. "How do _you_ know about Kipling Hall?" she asked with evident surprise.

   He blinked down at her. "Kipling Hall?"

   "It's the name of this estate."

   He cocked his head. "How d'ya know that?"

   She clasped her hands behind her back, shrugged and glanced away. She looked oddly embarrassed. "Well, um, I sort've grew up around here," she mumbled.

   Modo couldn't help it; his jaw dropped. Just a little. Alley had said Chex was rich, but he'd never really thought about what that _meant_. Somehow, he'd always pictured folk like mafia bosses or visiting royals shacked up in places like this, like in the James Bomb films he was so fond of. "O-one of these houses is _yours_?" he squeaked.

   A frown touched Chex's lips and she shrugged again. "Technically, it's my _dad's_. I just live in it. Well, I live in the dorms at school now. Thank goodness. No more step-smother breathin' down my neck." She pointed across the pond to where the trees thickened into actual woodland. "My house is about a mile that way. When we were kids, me and Chris used to take a trail through the woods and come here to play around. Used to dare each other to go into the house."

   He frowned. "That house is dangerous. It looks like it'd fall over if ya sneezed on it."

   She rolled her eyes. "That's what makes it _exciting_. Duh. 'Sides, it's supposed to be haunted, ya know." Her lips quirked into a small grin at his disbelieving snort. "It's true! Well, I never saw any ghosts, but there's definitely a weird feeling about this place. Kinda spooky. Kipling's been abandoned since the thirties. And word is, the owner went bankrupt and it drove him stark-raving bonkers. He like ax-murdered his entire family and all the servants, then threw himself off the roof. Impaled himself on an iron fence post or something. All those murdered spirits wanderin' around, wanting revenge…" She trailed off with a knowing nod.

   "There're no such things as ghosts," Modo scoffed, crossing his arms. It was more difficult to write off the slight chill of apprehension that raised the fur along his spine. He'd always rather liked this abandoned property. It held a wild sort of charm. But if he'd known it had such a dark history, he might've thought twice about making it his personal hideaway. Bad karma like that tended to stick around. Maybe it wasn't the imminent collapse of the mansion that always kept him from exploring inside it. Maybe he'd just been subconsciously picking up on all those bad vibes.

   Chex wandered over to a narrow, rickety-looking dock and sat down, pulled off her combat boots and stockings, rolled up her leggings and swung her legs over the edge. Modo couldn't help noticing how the jagged scar that ran the length of her leg gleamed white against her lightly tanned skin. She dangled her feet into the water, kicking idly. The intrusion was immediately greeted with a flurry of ripples as fish swam to the surface to take curious nibbles at her toes. "They must be hungry," she commented with a grin.

   Modo made himself comfortable beside her. "Ever go fishing?" he asked. "I got a rod an' some tackle stowed around here."

   She glanced up, surprised. "You like to fish?"

   "Sure." He offered a lopsided smile. "Used to fish on Mars, once upon a time. Took Rimfire out with me on the great lakes a lot, too. He was pretty young, though. Dunno if he'd remember that."

   She considered. "This was before all the water dried up?"

   "Yep."

   "But Stoker's machine's supposed to fix that problem, right?"

   He sighed, wistful. "That's the dream."

   She toed the water, expression distant. "Used to go fishing with my grandpa when I was little, up 'til he died. Never fished here, though," she murmured. "Mostly I'd just bring bread crumbs along to feed them. Used to think they'd all starve if I didn't. Kinda like pets, ya know?" She huffed a soft laugh. "Guess they get along fine by themselves."

   "How long you been comin' out here? I ain't never seen any kids playin' around."

   She shrugged. "Been awhile. Haven't been out here since I was eleven or twelve. Me and Chris were in the house exploring once. Treasure hunting. And one of the floors collapsed right out from under us." She smirked when he huffed. "Guess the wood was all rotted out or something. Almost killed us both and Pop just about hit the ceiling when he found out where we'd been. Banned us from ever comin' back." She pursed her lips. "Wouldn't've stopped _me_ , but Chris never goes against our parents and it wasn't any fun by myself. Not much left inside, anyway. Rooms are all empty. Everything of value was cleared out ages ago."

   They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes. Modo cast glances at her from the corner of his eye, but she seemed lost in thought. He, however, knew he had a job to do. She hadn't outright _said_ as much, but he was pretty sure Charley's orders hadn't been _just_ to get Chex out of sight for awhile. After a few more moments of hesitation, he shifted, cleared his throat, and asked, "So, uh, you feelin' a bit better now?"

   She blinked slowly and looked up at him in confusion. "Huh?"

   He gestured awkwardly. "Back at the garage. You were pretty freaked out," he explained. "With th' hand rubbin' an' everything…"

   "Oh." She ducked her head and her hair swung forward to hide her face. But not before he saw the telltale blush that stained her cheeks pink. "Um, that—The thing is, I hate blood," she mumbled, and he could easily pick up on her embarrassment. "Makes me sick to my stomach. It's even worse when I gotta touch it. I can't even handle the fake stuff. Like in horror movies and shit. And I _know_ it's fake but…" She trailed off with a shrug. "Stupid, right?"

   He glanced at the dark stains that still dotted her clothes, decided it might be better not to mention them, in case she hadn't noticed. He didn't want to freak her out again. "Naw," he said, voice soft. "Everyone's afraid of somethin'."

   After a moment she glanced up. "What're _you_ afraid of?"

   He pondered a second before he leaned in, as if to impart a great secret. "Truth be told," he replied, "I ain't so fond of thunderstorms. All that static in the air makes my fur stand on end. Makes my skin itch. An' I got one hell of a lightnin' rod hangin' off my shoulder, too."

   Gray eyes widened. "You really attract lightning? You ever get hit by a bolt?"

   He snorted, amused by the open fascination in her tone. "Naw, an' I don't ever plan to, neither."

   She nodded and lapsed into thoughtful silence, gaze fixed on the curious fish that continued to investigate her feet.

   Modo cast superfluous glances at the top of her head and wished he was better at this sort of thing. Subtlety was Stoker's specialty. And Throttle could pry info outta people without them ever knowing they were being grilled. Modo was way more like Vinnie in that he preferred directness over subterfuge. If he wanted to know something, he usually just came out and asked. Something told him that wouldn't work so well this time around. And the last thing he wanted was to send Chex scurryin' off in a panic.

   He sighed heavily, and felt her eyes on him again. "What's wrong?" she asked after a moment.

   His mouth twisted. "Just thinkin' about this whole mess," he muttered.

   She continued to regard him quizzically, and his shoulders slumped. "Fact is, me'n the bros… Stoker… Carbine… Every one of us owes you an apology," he rumbled, ears drooping in the face of the admittance. "I don't like admittin' it, but what happened back there should've never happened. Whether or not Carbine's our general, we knew what she was askin' was wrong an' we should've stepped in before things got as bad as they did. It's just … hard to disobey direct orders when ya spend most of your life followin' 'em." He grimaced at himself. "Ain't no excuse, though. I just … uh…"

   The soft hand resting on his arm brought him to a stuttering halt and he glanced down again to find her wide gray eyes fixed on him. Through the contact, he could feel her genuine astonishment at his apology. He could also feel a myriad of other emotions. Lingering anger, a little fear … and guilt. A whole, heaping load of guilt. He frowned and when she started to withdraw her hand he covered it with his big metal one to keep it in place. She refused to meet his gaze and he sighed, cupped her chin and gently forced her head up to directly look at him. "What's goin' on, Chex?" he asked softly. "Were they right? Are you hidin' somethin' from us?"

   "I-I'm not—"

   "Bullshit." Her eyes widened further and he huffed softly. "Empath, remember? I admit I ain't the strongest one of the bunch but even I can sense an outright lie," he added.

   She kept her gaze on his, didn't seem to notice how her fingers twisted the tattered layers of her skirts into crumpled knots. Her jaw clenched as she struggled with herself.

   "You won't 'fess up? Even for Alley's sake?" He kept his voice soft, soothing. "That girl nearly died 'cause of—"

   "I don't want anyone goin' after her the way you did me," Chex blurted, cutting him off.

   "'Her'?" Modo's heart skipped and his eye widened. "You sayin' someone knows about us?"

   A hesitant nod.

   "Did you tell someone about the plan?"

   "No! I mean—" Chex bit her lip, drew her legs out of the water and wrapped her arms around them, face buried against her knees. "Not … _exactly_ …"

   He sighed and poked her gently in the side. "Do I gotta keep playin' Twenty Questions with you?"

   She seemed to slump, her entire body sagging. "I … I got this pen-pal," she began, and although she kept her head buried against her knees, Modo's sharp ears caught every word. "We've been writing back and forth for a few years now. I … I might've been … telling her a story."

   His breath caught. "What kind of a story?"

   She squirmed and even without touching her, he could feel her embarrassment. "A science fiction story," she mumbled. "I was—I mean, I don't know much about sci-fi so I was sort've using you guys as a basis. Ya know? I mean, what better way to write about aliens than basing 'em off the real thing?"

   Modo blew out a breath as his brow furrowed. "You been puttin' in stuff you shouldn't've?"

   "I change names and details and stuff!" she protested, defensive.

   "Chex." The obvious warning in his tone made her wilt. When she peeked at him again over her drawn-up knees, her eyes were wet.

   "Alley told me about the whole tower plan and it sounded like an awesome plot idea. So I … I might've included it."

   "Even how it ended?" he snapped. She flinched and he took another steadying breath. "Who else has been reading the story? Classmates? Teachers?"

   "Just my friend! I swear! Sh-she likes my writing so I always send her stuff to read. She edits for me."

   "She got a name?" Modo pressed.

   Chex drew herself up and scowled as a bit of her normal spunk brightened her eyes. "None of you are going after her!" she snapped. "She's not the one who's behind this!"

   "How do you know that?"

   "Because she's a terminally ill cancer patient from Pennsylvania!"

   Modo blinked, shocked into silence.

   Chex slumped again, as if all the fight had just gone out of her. "She's been sick a long time," she continued softly. "Since she was a kid, really. She's a little younger than me and she's been in and out of hospitals for most of her life. They keep fighting off the cancer but it keeps coming back and every time it's a little more aggressive." Her arms tightened around her knees. "There are always these … _silences_. Where communication just stops. Sometimes it lasts a few days. Sometimes a month or two … and I know that's when she's in the hospital, fighting to live. And every time, I wonder if she'll ever come back again."

   Modo thought for a few moments. "You ever go to visit her in person?"

   Chex shook her head. "I asked once or twice, but her parents are real protective of her. They wouldn't allow it. And I don't think she wants me to see her like she is, all hooked up to medical machines and stuff. I think the chemo makes her brutally ill, too."

   "Her family doesn't keep you in the loop?"

   "I'm not sure she ever told them she writes to me. From the way she talks, she's pretty closed off from the rest of the world. I never have any communication from anyone else when she stops writing, so I never know if she's … okay."

   "How'd you meet this girl?" Modo asked.

   Chex sighed. "After my accident, I was in the hospital for awhile myself. There was this online chat room for hospitalized patients to hang out in and talk, like a support group from all over the States. A lot of them are like my friend, spending most of their lives stuck in hospital beds. They wanted to know what I was in for so … I told them. Like, the truth." She glanced up with a smirk. "All about the mall collapsing on me and my heroic rescue by a giant, talking, motorcycle-riding hamster." The humor faded as she looked down again. "They thought I was nuts, of course. I expected that. But this one girl, she emailed me privately and wanted to know more. Said she thought I was creative, and she liked to tell stories, too. So…" She shrugged. "That's how we started talking. Telling each other stories. Not just that, though. We'd tell each other … personal stuff, too. I never had like a best friend or anything so it was nice to have a girlfriend to talk to." She sighed and slumped again, chin propped on her knees as she gazed out over the water. "Been a few weeks since I last heard from her, though. I wonder if she's real sick again." Her voice choked slightly. "I wonder if maybe it's the end this time."

   Modo felt horrible. This was not at all what he'd expected to hear. He rested his hand on Chex's head and gave it an awkward pat, trying to comfort her. "So, uh, your friend got a name?" When she cast a suspicious glance in his direction, he held up his hands. "I don't plan on sendin' the troops after her or nothin'. Just, if what you say is true, Charley could probably do a check and confirm it all. That'd put her in the clear."

   "And what about me?" she grumbled. "Carbine'll probably send a lynch mob."

   His mouth twisted. "What you did was foolish and irresponsible," he said firmly, and she wilted a little more under the admonishment. He rested a hand on her thin back, trying to soften his tone. "Didn't ya ever think of the danger when you were sendin' off those stories? Someone's been keepin' tabs on Alley. They hacked her school records an' changed her entire history! Didn't ya think maybe they'd be keepin' tabs on her friends, too? Hijackin' an email account'd be pretty simple for someone with those kinda hackin' skills. If someone _was_ listenin' in, they got all the info they needed from your little 'fiction' novel."

   Chex blanched and stared fixedly at a point out on the pond. She began to rock back and forth, ever-so-slightly. He could hear her heartbeat kick into a fast, unsteady pace. "S-so it could be all my fault Alley almost got killed," she mumbled. She rubbed her hands together again, over and over, as if trying to wipe away nonexistent blood.

   "Hey, hey." He quickly stilled her movements and turned her to face him, cupped her face in his big hands to make her focus her attention. "Don't freak out on me, now. An accident's just an accident. But we're gonna need your help to make it right. If the emails were hacked, they can be traced, too. We can find the person behind this. Okay?"

   She nodded slowly as her heart rate calmed. The color slowly returned to her cheeks. "We mostly call each other by our online handles," she said, voice hoarse, "but she told me her name's Reagan Connelly."

   "That's real helpful, Chex. We'll be able to get to the bottom of this. And I promise," he added when she continued to look worried, "I won't let anyone go after your friend. I'll talk to Charley Ma'am first. She'll be discreet about it."

   "You won't … tell Carbine?"

   He huffed. "She's gotta know eventually, but I'll hold off tellin' as long as possible. An' I sure ain't gonna let her send anyone after your friend."

   She peeked up at him. "Even if she threatens to court-martial you?"

   He nodded, firm. "Even then."

   "Thank you, Modo." He blinked in stunned surprise when she suddenly leaned over and slid her arms around him in a sideways hug, holding on tight for a few moments. He froze, unsure what to do. It was the first time in a long while that anyone, aside from Charley and his bros, had deigned to touch him in any manner other than casual. His appearance usually scared everyone else off. He gave her back a few awkward pats, even as the slow burn of an embarrassed blush covered his face, and was glad for his dark fur that hid it.

   Chex released him abruptly and climbed awkwardly to her feet. A little too fast, it seemed; she would've tumbled right off the dock when her leg abruptly gave out on her, if not for Modo's quick reflexes to catch her and pull her back from the edge. "You okay?"

   "Y-yeah." She glanced around, looked about as awkward as he felt. She gazed up at the sky and sighed. "We should probably go back," she added. "Pretty sure it's gonna storm soon. You don't like thunder, right?"

   He glanced up, doubtful. He hadn't heard anything about bad weather. And the sky remained clear and brilliant, sun shining bright.

   She smiled faintly at his skepticism and knocked on her scarred leg. "The leg _always_ knows. Gets real stiff and aches when the weather turns bad. Atmospheric pressure changes and everything… Winter's a real bitch, lemme tell ya."

He frowned. "Can't the doctors do anything for ya?"

   "They can prescribe pain meds." She grimaced. "I don't like relying on drugs, though." The admittance came soft and serious. "Problem with those is your body starts resisting, builds up immunity. So they stop working. So you start taking more. And when that stops working, you take a little more. And next thing you know, you're addicted to prescription drugs and can't function without 'em." She slid a nervous glance out of the corner of her eye. "M-my mom got like that. She got hooked on antidepressants. Before she took off on us. They ruined her. Ruined my family. And my dad, he never even tried to make her get help. She embarrassed him, ya know? When she left … he just let her go. I think he was glad she was gone."

   Modo listened, wide-eyed, to the confession.

   Chex squirmed beneath his stare and her cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry," she mumbled, gave an embarrassed sort of laugh. "I dunno why I said all that. But people are always like, 'Just take some pills' and I just wanna smack 'em upside the head sometimes. Drugs aren't the answer to everything!" She chuckled again and scratched her head. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'm not usually this … chatty."

   "S'okay," he assured her. "Sometimes talkin' things out helps."

   She nodded. "You're real easy to talk to, ya know?" She seemed surprised by this. "Even Chris… We used to talk a lot when we were little, but these days it's like we don't have anything in common anymore. I guess that's normal with growin' up and all. But he'd never talk about Mom with me, even back then. He's just like Pop, wants to sweep her under the rug and pretend she never existed."

   "That don't seem right. She's your mama, despite her faults."

   "Yeah." She hesitated. "You-you're real close to your mom, aren't you?"

   He smiled softly. "Yeah. Family's important to us. Most mouse clans are tight-knit groups. Family's everything. What we fight an' die to protect. Our numbers are small, even smaller with th' war goin' on so long. Every life lost, it's somethin' the whole community mourns."

   "How about your dad? You get along with him?"

   Modo's smile faltered a bit. "He died when I was real young," he confessed softly. "Only clear memories I have of him are the ones Mama and my elder sister shared with me. Those two raised me pretty much by themselves. They brought me up proper."

   She smiled. "I can tell. You remind me of a furry John Wayne."

   He blinked, then grinned. "Well, thank ye kindly, Ma'am," he drawled and tipped an imaginary hat, which earned a dry chuckle in response.

   Overhead, the sky gave a low, ominous growl, prompting them to glance up. Modo was surprised to discover a thick cover of roiling gray clouds slowly moving in, partially blocking the sun. "Well, pull my tail an' call me squeaky…" he uttered in astonishment. It was like they'd sprung up out of nowhere. The wind shifted, kicked up, and he caught the scent of ozone and rain. The sky rumbled again and he glanced down at Chex, only to find her regarding him with a knowing smirk on her face.

   "Told ya." She tapped her leg again. "It always knows. Guess we should head back before you find out whether that arm really does attract lightning, huh?" With a cheeky grin, she snatched up her boots and socks, turned to precede him back to the bike, a barely-noticeable limp now dogging her steps.

   He watched her for a few moments, concerned. He'd never realized her leg still gave her pain. She was always bouncin' back and forth like a hyperactive child, sticking her nose into things it had no business being in. His hand wandered to his scarred shoulder to rub absently at the place where flesh met metal. Something they had in common, then. There were times his own scars ached something fierce, too. But, at least he had the natural ability to put a mental block on the pain when it got too bad, at least enough to keep it from being distracting. It was a handy trick Throttle had showed him how to do, a long time back. He wondered if he could show Chex, except he was pretty sure humans weren't equipped with that sort of ability. 'Sides, after what happened today, he'd be surprised if she ever let any one of them anywhere near her again.

   "You okay?" he called when he saw her stumble a bit.

   She waved him off. "Don't worry, cowboy, it's not so bad. I'm used to it."

   He eyed her with newfound respect as she perched on Li'l Hoss's seat and pulled on her boots, waiting for him to catch up. Something splatted against his metal arm. When he glanced up, another raindrop caught him right in the eye, making him blink. Li'l Hoss growled at him, a clear "hurry up!". She hated storms as much as he did. He chuckled and slid onto the bike, wrapped his tail around Chex's waist and plopped the skullcap over her hair as he revved the engine.

   "You think we can make it back to the garage before it pours on us?" she asked.

   "I dunno." Modo winced when the sky released another low growl, like a beast ready to pounce. A few more drops splattered tauntingly against his helmet as he revved the engine and took off toward the road. "But we're sure as shootin' gonna try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my first attempt to seriously get into Modo's head. Poor guy hasn't been given much attention until now. Hope I did him justice.


	40. Forty

   They _almost_ made it back before the storm overtook them. Thunder roared, the sky opened up, and within a few minutes, they were drenched to the skin. Even Li'l Hoss's speed couldn't outrace the deluge that pounded mercilessly against them, caused gutters to overflow and flooded the streets as heavy Chicago traffic slowed to a crawl. Luckily, Modo was an expert at dodging and weaving in and out of tight places, so they continued to make progress, but they were both shivering from the cold rain by the time they finally rumbled into the garage.

   They found Charley and Stoker hunched over Charley's behemoth of a computer. Stoker muttered as he tapped the monitor, and Modo caught a glimpse of lines of code before Charley abruptly hit a button and the screen went black. She turned in her chair with a suspiciously innocent expression, eyeballed the sopping pair with a raised eyebrow. "What happened to you two? Did you have to swim home?" she asked with a chuckle.

   Modo snorted as he removed his helmet and helped Chex off the bike. She handed him the skullcap that had done little to protect her head, wrung out her sopping skirts and ran fingers through her wet hair. She shivered from the cold and Modo frowned. "You okay?"

   She waved him off. "Yeah, just sorta feel like a drowned cat right now."

   He chuckled as he opened a large metal cabinet with his tail and pulled out some old towels. "Ya sorta look like one, too." He tossed a towel at her.

   She wrinkled her nose at him. "Oh, _you're_ a good one to talk, hairball," she teased as she vigorously scrubbed the towel over her head, leaving a halo of cherry-red spikes.

   Charley and Stoker exchanged amused glances. "Before you take off, go reassure Alley that yer brain's still all in one piece," Stoker ordered. "I'll never hear the end of it, otherwise."

   Chex hesitated, the humor fading. "Is she … okay?" she questioned, almost timidly.

   "She'll be fine. She's upstairs."

   She nodded and skirted around Charley's desk. Nobody missed the nervous glances she cast in Stoker's direction as she passed and Charley nudged him in the side. Hard.

   He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hey, kid," he called. When she hesitated and glanced over her shoulder, he offered a small grin. "Real sorry about what happened. Things got a little out of hand. We don't normally make a habit outta terrorizin' civilians, just so ya know. You okay?"

   She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yeah," she replied, voice soft.

   "I'll make sure nothin' like that happens again. And thanks for the lead on Limburger's location. It was real helpful. We'll put that info to good use."

   She seemed to relax as she nodded again, turned and took the stairs at a slower-than-normal pace, still wringing water out of her clothes with the towel. Modo watched her limp up the steps with some concern.

   "There now, was that so bad?" Charley teased as she gave Stoker another nudge, which earned her a playful swat across the rear with a metal tail. She dodged and laughed before turning her attention to Modo. "So? You learn anything while you were out doing … whatever it is you two did?"

   Modo blinked, going for innocence. "Who says I was tryin' to learn somethin'?"

   "Because I didn't send you out with her just to sightsee. And she's got a little thing for you, in case it escaped your attention." She smiled. "I figured if anyone could charm the truth out of that girl, it'd be you."

   Modo shifted, uncomfortable. His face felt suspiciously warm. "Don't go gettin' any funny ideas," he muttered. "Chex ain't my type. She's a little—"

   A sudden widening of Charley's eyes gave him pause just long enough to realize they had company. He glanced to the stairs and saw the subject of their conversation hovering on the last step, eyes glued to the floor. When silence fell she looked up with a bright smile. "Need my bag," she announced as she nodded toward the large messenger sitting beside the table where she'd dropped it. Stoker picked it up and tossed it to her, she caught it with a quick word of thanks and scurried back up the stairs.

   Modo watched her go with a feeling of unease, wondering how much she had overheard.

* * *

   "Knock knock!"

   Alley glanced up as her bedroom door opened and Chex peeked around the corner. "Hey!" She closed the book she was reading and shifted further up on the bed with a pained grimace. "Come on in! Take a load off. Are you alright? I am _so_ sorry about what happened! I didn't think for a minute that—"

   Chex pulled a face and waved aside her apologies. She yanked out the desk chair, turned it around and plopped into it, arms draped over its back as she scooched toward the bed. "Never mind about _me_. Are _you_ okay?" She gave Alley a quick once-over and her gaze honed in on the thick swath of bandages clearly outlined under the gray camisole Alley wore. "Did you really tear your stitches?"

   The blonde grimaced. "Yeah, and my doctor's gonna shit a brick when I go for my next checkup," she grumbled. "Looks like I'm back to square one." She lifted her bandaged arm. "At least this is still okay."

   "Even with all that gun-waving you were doing? Which, by the way, was the most _kickass_ thing I've ever seen. You're _totally_ my new hero now."

   Alley laughed. "I doubt it was more kickass than someone hefting an entire _wall_ off of your body, but thanks for the sentiment." Her smile faded as she regarded her friend. "So? How are things?"

   "Oh, you know." Chex fell silent for a moment before another bright grin touched her face. "While you were in here getting patched up, Modo finally took me out on his bike. It was _awesome_." She sighed and rested her chin on her arms. "Man, I wish I had a ride like that. I'd take cross-country trips every _week_."

   Alley raised an eyebrow as a smirk played about her lips. "So you two are getting along pretty well now, huh?"

   Chex pursed her lips and shrugged, gazed at her hands as she idly picked at a nail. "Well, he only took me out to pry info outta me, but it was still a fun ride. Until it started to rain, anyhow. Could've done without the cold shower. Sorry if I get your chair a little damp, by the way." She grinned again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

   Alley frowned. "He didn't…"

   "Nah." She waved off her concerns. "Nothing like _that_. We just … talked, is all."

   "About what?"

   Chex remained silent for a long moment, before abruptly dropping her face into her crossed arms to voice an incoherent mumble.

   Alley frowned, confused. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

   She lifted her head, expression mournful. "About how it might actually possibly be all my fault you ended up getting hurt?" she repeated in a small voice.

   Alley's eyes widened. "You mean the guys were _right_?"

   She nodded once, face again buried in her arms.

   "You … _lied_?"

   Another nod.

   " _Why?_ "

   "Because I was trying to protect someone," she admitted.

   A long silence fell, before Alley hesitantly asked, "Your brother?"

   Chex's head snapped up. "No!" she yelped, gray eyes wide. "Chris has nothing to do with this, I _swear_. He didn't even know about the plan, not until I told him you were in the hospital. He wanted to know what happened and I had to tell him _something_. He didn't buy the car accident story I fed him, especially since he'd heard the news reports about the tower collapsing and how some girl almost died when she got trapped inside. He's not _stupid_. So, I told him what really went down and he was _pissed_."

   Alley remained silent, doubtful. "Why didn't you tell him what we were planning ahead of time?" she finally asked. "I figured you'd want him to know."

   Chex flashed a weak smile. "Are you kidding? He's got a major jones for you and he doesn't like _them_ at all. Guy thinks he's Captain America. If he found out you were going undercover for their sake, that weenie _definitely_ would've tried to save you from yourself and probably get his ass kicked in the process."

   Alley sighed. "Fair enough. So if it wasn't your brother, who _were_ you trying to protect? What's going on? I'm really confused and I don't want to believe Carbine's suspicions, but…" She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

   Chex hesitated for a few moments. Then she drew in a deep breath and straightened, a determined expression on her face as she boldly met Alley's gaze and repeated everything she'd told Modo. When she finished, they regarded each other in silence for a few moments, before she finally threw out her arms with an impatient, "Well? Go ahead and lay it on me. Tell me what a big moron I am!"

   Alley blinked. "Okay. You're a big moron," she agreed, deadpan.

   " _…And?_ "

   "Aaand … sit in the corner and think about what you did?" She rolled her eyes at Chex's expression. "Well, what do you _want_ me to say? Throw me a clue."

   "You're not _mad_?"

   She shrugged, lips pursed. "I'm not particularly thrilled about it. But it's not like you deliberately set me up or anything. Yeah, it was kind of thoughtless and irresponsible and the mice lost a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get rid of the Plutarkians for good because of it, but an accident is still an accident."

   Chex groaned and banged her head against her arms. "They _did_ , didn't they? Plutark would've been _toast_ if I'd just kept my big mouth shut. No _wonder_ they all hate me!"

   "I'm pretty sure none of them hate you," Alley scoffed.

   "Carbine hates me."

   "Carbine hates everybody. Besides, she's got a few missing screws in her engine if you ask me."

   Chex snorted a laugh at that. "So, now what?" she wondered.

   Alley shrugged. "I suppose Charley plays Sherlock Holmes and tries to figure out what happened. On top of that, the guys need to go hunt down Limburger, which should _probably_ take top priority. He could be halfway to China or something by now."

   "So what do we do? Sit around on our hands and watch?" Chex huffed through her nose. "How boring." A warning glance earned a sheepish grin in return. "I know, I know. I've helped enough, huh?" She pondered for a few moments and then her face brightened. "Wanna have a sleepover?"

   Alley blinked at the abrupt subject change. "A … sleepover."

   "Sure! You know, that thing friends do when they all get together to pig out on junk food and gossip about boys and sex and have pillow fights in their underwear and shit like that."

   Alley raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever _been_ to an actual sleepover?"

   "Uh, have you _met_ me?"

   "Not _that_ kind, you horndog!" Laughing, Alley threw a pillow at her. "I mean an actual _slumber party_ with your friends!"

   Chex caught the pillow and tossed it back. "I did once when I was six," she replied. "It was some girl's birthday and my parents made me go 'cause they were friends with her parents. I hardly talked to her, otherwise. We were rivals, I guess."

   "When you were six?" Alley shot her a wry look. "What were you rivals over, the hot seven-year-old in the second grade?"

   Chex laughed. "Anyhow, someone put a worm in the girl's punch. She almost drank it. And when I say 'almost' it's just 'cause she spat it out before she actually swallowed. Everyone blamed me, 'cause we'd gotten into it earlier over Chris. She'd been teasing him and I smacked her for it. _Nobody_ messes with my brother. It was a love tap, really! But the way she howled you'd think I'd just stabbed her with a fork or something. I guess the worm was the last straw. Parents were called… Possibly the hospital… It pretty much put an end to the party and got me banned from attending any more sleepovers. Like, _ever._ "

   Alley clutched at her side as she struggled to control her giggles; laughing _hurt_ , damn it! "No offense, Chex, but dropping a worm into some kid's punch seems like something you'd do."

   Chex snorted. "Well, sure, _now_ I would. But I was a proper little princess back _then_. Kinda like you, come to think of it." She grinned at Alley's expression and held up three fingers. "It wasn't me. Scout's honor!"

   "Hmmm. So was it Chris who actually did it? Since she'd been picking on him?"

   " _Noooo_ , not _him_." Chex leveled her best deadpan stare. "Captain America would _never_ stoop to pulling childish pranks on a _girl_."

   "…Could you have _possibly_ loaded any more sarcasm into that statement?"

   "Oh, definitely." She smirked. "But I don't like to use it up all at once; I prefer to spread it around. Like little pearl-drops of wisdom."

   "Owww, you're gonna _kill_ me if you keep making me laugh like this!" Alley half-groaned as she clutched her side. When she'd suitably calmed, she readjusted her position and continued, "I'm all for a slumber party, but I'm surprised you still even wanna stick around, after what happened this morning. If it was me, I'd be hightailing my ass outta dodge and as far away from this insanity as I can get!"

   "What are you, nuts?" Chex's grin came bright and sharp. "You're the most interesting group I've met in my _life_. It'll take more 'n a little thing like almost getting my brain melted to scare _me_ off."

* * *

   The first thing Charley heard when she finally emerged from the garage some hours later was laughter from the general vicinity of Alley's bedroom. Curious, she peeked in through the half-open door to find both her cousin and Chex sprawled across the twin bed; a movie soundtrack blared from the speakers of an open laptop. And Chex had stripped out of her wet clothes and now sported a pair of tiny sleeping shorts and camisole that looked at least two sizes too small. Most likely Alley's, judging by the soft pink color and tiny butterflies that decorated the shorts.

   "Hey, Cuz! Come join us! Plenty of room," Chex invited cheerfully, patting the narrow sliver of mattress left at her side. "Ever watch _Hello, Dolly_? I'm introducing Alley to the wonders of Barbara Streisand."

   "She's a total musical and big band nut. Who knew?" Alley put in with a shrug.

   "Hey. You ain't heard musical orgasm 'til you hear Michael Crawford belting out _Point of no Return_." Chex nodded sagely.

   Charley rolled her eyes with a smirk. "I'll take your word for it."

   "So, we're gonna have a sleepover," Alley announced. "You don't mind, right? We'll stick to my room. Nobody'll even know we're here."

   "I dunno." Charley looked dubious. "You sure you should be horsing around in here? You rip your stitches again and I think Stoke'll probably staple you to the bed this time."

   "No worries! I am at her beck and call." Chex saluted playfully. "She'll never have to leave the room! Anything she needs, I'll get it for her. Drinks, snacks, a bedpan…"

   Alley whapped her. "I'm not an invalid!"

   "Sleeping arrangements?" Charley wanted to know. "Don't you think the bed's a bit too small for two people? And the living room'll most likely be occupied."

   "Floor's fine with me. Couple of blankets, a pillow, and I'm good to go."

   "Don't be silly. I've got a camping mattress and a bicycle pump stashed under Priscilla's back seat. Just drag it up here and blow it up," Alley offered.

   "That works, too."

   Charley shrugged. "Well, looks like you have it all figured out. I guess I don't mind. Just stay out of trouble, yeah? And when Carbine comes back, don't pick any fights."

   Alley grimaced. "You think she might actually show her face after what she tried to pull?"

   "Her supplies are still here so she'll at least return for those. But I'm pretty sure she'll be taking her crew back to Mars shortly. With those attacks going on she can't be gone too much longer."

   Chex heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief, complete with arm-across-the-brow-swipe, and Alley snickered. Charley just shook her head as she turned to leave. "I'm heading out to the scrap yard. Mike got a load of old machine parts in and offered me first shot at 'em. This place had _better_ still be standing when I get back."

   "Isn't that the speech you usually give the _guys_?" Alley asked dryly.

   Charley blinked, then grinned. "Sorry. Force of habit." She tossed a wave over her shoulder as she left the room.

* * *

   Five hours and two more movies later, and Alley was starting to feel a little peckish. In the same way a bear feels peckish just after emerging from hibernation. "Food break?" she suggested hopefully.

   "I could go for munchies." Chex tapped the spacebar on her computer to pause the current movie. "So what do you think about _Singin' in the Rain_ so far?"

   "It's … cute." Honestly, Alley felt a little bored—Old musicals weren't her thing any more than James Bomb flicks—but she did her best to muster some enthusiasm for Chex's sake. "The dancing is pretty fun. Especially that Cosmo guy's act."

   "You mean Donald O'Connor? Yeah, his backstage scene always impresses me. He makes using all those props look so _effortless_. The way one move just flows into the next without any awkward breaks… It probably took hours of practice to make it look so natural and unrehearsed. Can you imagine the amount of strength training some of those moves required? Strength training is _not_ fun, believe me."

   "You talk like you've had experience."

   Chex fell silent for a moment before she flashed a crooked grin and an offhand shrug. "Don't hold it against me but I used to take dancing lessons when I was a kid," she admitted.

   "Really? What kind?" Alley asked, surprised.

   "A bit of this, a little of that. Mostly classical ballet. I liked modern better but ballet was _classier_. Chris had piano, I had dancing. Before my mom left, she used to make us dress up in matching outfits and put on little performances for Dad's business associates at their dinner parties and stuff. Kinda like performing monkeys or something." Chex pulled a sour face and Alley laughed.

   "Why don't you dance anymore?" she asked.

   "Well, getting my leg crushed under a wall sorta put an end to any chance of going professional, so there wasn't really any point in keeping up with lessons. Real letdown for the 'rents, huh? But that's okay. Gives me more time to focus on my writing, instead!"

   Alley hesitated, wondering if she should keep pursuing the subject. Chex _sounded_ flippant enough, but a certain stiffness in her back and the squared set of her shoulders made Alley wonder if she'd inadvertently stumbled onto a sore subject. She opened her mouth to apologize, hesitated and closed it again, at a loss for words. What did one _say_ to something like that without sounding insincere or condescending?

   Chex abruptly sat straighter and clapped her hands sharply. " _So,_ " she announced brightly, "I'm totally in the mood for something hot, greasy, and loaded with calories."

   "Pizza?" Alley gladly accepted the switch in topics. "We can call out for delivery, or I think there are a couple of deep dishes in the freezer."

   "Actually, I have something even better in mind." Chex grinned and rubbed her hands together. "You got any cheese stashed in your fridge?"

   Alley thought for a moment. "A bag of shredded mozzarella I use for pasta and I think I bought some Swiss and Muenster blocks awhile back. It might have gone bad by now, though. I'm not sure if anyone else eats it."

   "How about tomatoes? Or ham?"

   Mystified, she nodded. "There are a couple of ripe tomatoes. Don't think there's any lunch meat, though. Aside from hot dogs, but I'm not sure you can count those as actual meat."

   "No problemo! I can work with what you got." Chex hopped to her feet and gave a thumbs up. "I _was_ gonna make the best grilled cheese sandwiches you ever tasted in your life, but we can settle for second-best instead."

   "Right. Except … you can't cook," Alley reminded her.

   "I can cook _this_. One of my guy friends works at the Atrium Grill, remember?"

   "Oh, yeah. The one you supposedly boinked?" Alley waggled her eyebrows with a grin.

   Chex ignored the jibe. "I sweet-talked him into showing me his secret recipe for those awesome sandwiches he makes. I've been practicing!"

   Alley still looked skeptical, but she offered a shrug. "Well, I guess I'm up for being your guinea pig. Just remember, if you poison me, nobody'll be around to protect you from those big, scary, brain-eating aliens anymore," she teased.

   Chex grinned as she hopped to her feet and snapped off a playful salute. "Just you wait, you'll soon be eating those words! Along with a greasy, gooey plateful of utter bliss and deliciousness."

   Alley just smirked. "I think it's a good thing Charley has the fire department on speed dial."


	41. Forty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Mostly just more filler, but hopefully enjoyable. Did my best to edit but if I missed anything feel free to point it out and I'll fix. Thanks again to those who review and follow this little tale. Makes me glad to know people enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

   In retrospect, Chex supposed she should have maybe thrown her own clothes back on before leaving Alley's room. They were still a little damp and misshapen (layers of tulle and faux leather did _not_ take kindly to impromptu soaking) but a little chafing couldn't have been any more uncomfortable than facing down the trio of large, furry males who'd just barged haphazardly through the doorway and damn near knocked her off her feet.

   Her sense of balance kicked in just in time; she skipped several hasty steps backward and to the right, hit the wall and somehow managed to keep her death-grip on the food-laden serving tray she'd been carrying back to the bedroom. The sudden shift in weight jarred her bad leg painfully; a sharp hiss escaped between clenched teeth before she could catch it. She opened her mouth to snap at the trio, froze like a rabbit in headlights when she realized that all three of them had stopped to gape at her with open jaws and eyeballs that threatened to drop out of their sockets. She frowned, glanced down at her tray and up again. " _What?_ " she huffed. "Never seen a tray of sandwiches before?"

   "Wh-what're you _wearing_?" Modo demanded, voice emerging in a scandalized squeak.

   She blinked at him, glanced down at herself again, nonplussed. "Pajamas?"

   Vinnie purred and waggled his eyebrows. Opened his mouth to comment and instead released a sharp yelp when Modo's fist made abrupt contact with the back of his head. "I didn't say nothin'!" he protested, glaring at him in offense.

   "Ya didn't hafta," Modo growled, glaring right back as he pointed toward the stairs. Vinnie looked like he wanted to argue, instead rolled his eyes and marched back down to the garage, grumbling and rubbing his sore skull. With a knowing smirk, Throttle silently followed, and Modo turned his disapproving frown on Chex.

   "What's got _your_ tail in a knot all the sudden?" she snorted. "Could you get out of my way, please? This tray ain't gettin' any lighter."

   He ignored her. "Those ain't pajamas," he huffed, shaking his head.

   She pursed her lips, turned to march to the kitchen and put the food down before she dropped it. "According to Alley they are," she shot over her shoulder. "I'm more of a jersey knit girl, myself, but we're having an impromptu sleepover and I don't have my own PJs with me. It was either these or my skivvies. You want I should go change?"

   " _Yes!_ "

   Chex turned and fisted her hands on her hips, regarded him with growing annoyance. "You're not my dad, you know, and there's nothing wrong with these."

   "Th-they hardly cover anything!" he sputtered, gesturing. His gaze kept darting between the thin fabric stretched tightly over her generous chest, and the expanse of her pale stomach exposed by the shorts clinging low at her hips. The deep red garnet of a piercing glinted temptingly at her navel, and he swallowed hard.

   She glanced down again, then shrugged. "Well, they're a little small for me, I guess," she admitted. "I'm … fuller than Alley in some places." She grinned cheekily while Modo choked. "Look, you go to any public beach and you'll see folk strutting around in _dental floss_ for bathing suits, but nobody seems to have any issues with that! What's the big deal?"

   "It just… It ain't proper, is all," he muttered sulkily, finally tearing his gaze away.

   Chex decided to take pity on the poor guy. "I was just out here making food for me and Alley," she explained. "We're sleeping in her room, otherwise. You won't even know I'm here."

   "I-in the same _bed_?" He squeaked.

   She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Modo. In the same bed. You wanna join us? We could probably squeeze you in the middle. Of course, we'll have to get _reeeeal_ close—"

   " _Chex!_ "

   She laughed at his expression. "I'm _kidding_ , geez! There's an air mattress on the floor for me. You need to lighten up, dude."

   He pouted and she chuckled. "Look, I'm sorry. Here, have a peace offering! The second-best grilled cheese sandwich you'll ever taste in your life. Made 'em myself and there's plenty to go around! Want one?"

   He blinked down at the tray and its platefuls of oozing, greasy sandwiches and potato chips, then up at Chex as an expression of utter disgust crossed his furry face. "I was wonderin' what smelled so bad up here," he muttered, promptly turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs to join his brothers in the garage.

* * *

   "I think I just mortally offended Modo."

   Alley glanced up as Chex entered the room carefully, tray balanced on one hand as she shut the door behind her. "If he caught you out there dressed like _that_ , you're probably right." She snickered. "I should've warned you to throw on a bathrobe or something."

   "Nah, it's all good. I ain't got nothing guys haven't seen before," Chex replied with a laugh. "But I offered him a sandwich to smooth things over and he acted like I'd tried to shove poison down his throat or something! Weird, right?"

   "Oh." Alley glanced at the ceiling, lips pursed. "Come to think of it, none of them like cheese. Like, _serious_ aversion to it."

   "Really? How can they _not_ like cheese?"

   "Beats me. They never said."

   Chex set the tray down on the bed and proffered a plate. "Try this."

   Alley obeyed, took a large bite from a sandwich. Strings of cheese dangled from her lips as she chewed. Her eyes widened. "Oh, yeah. _This_ is good," she sighed. "What did you put in this? Am I tasting a little mayonnaise?"

   "Maybe," Chex replied smugly. "So, anyway, you think those guys are lactose intolerant or something?"

   Alley swallowed another mouthful. "Except I gave Throttle a glass of milk once and it didn't seem to affect him badly or anything. Must be some other reason."

   "Ooooo! Mystery!" Chex plopped down on the air mattress with her own plate. "And one I am _determined_ to solve. 'Cause knowing Modo hates cheese just hurts me in the heart." She sighed sadly and pressed a hand to her chest.

   Alley smirked. "Oh, yeah. That's a real deal-breaker, right there."

   Chex batted her eyes. "At least I still have you," she cooed.

   The blonde choked on a laugh. "Sorry. You're not really my type."

   "Oh, I know _your_ type." Chex grinned and waggled her eyebrows in a good imitation of Vinnie. She took a large bite out of her sandwich and continued, "Big, hard and fuzzy."

   "Sh-shut up! You're one to talk!" Blushing and laughing, Alley threw a chip at her.

* * *

   Alley wasn't quite sure _what_ woke her up at four-thirty in the morning, but as soon as consciousness hit her, so did her full bladder. She grimaced and shifted to sit up; her side screamed in protest, having gone stiff at some point during the night. She downed a couple of pain pills and carefully slid out of bed, mindful of Chex snoring softly on the floor beside her.

   Still half-asleep, she limped her way into the hall, blearily noted the bright stream of light that flooded through the half-open stairway door before she shut herself in the bathroom. By the time she'd finished her business, she had woken up enough to start wondering _why_ the door was open and the garage lights were all on. Charley was never down there before six, as far as she knew. She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face before creeping out to the opened door to listen intently.

   Soft voices drifted up the stairs, rising and falling in timbre. Male voices, by the sound of them. She thought she recognized Stoker and relaxed. Then she heard a female's voice and muttered a short oath. That had definitely sounded like Carbine.

   Something tapped her sharply on the shoulder from behind and Alley let out a loud squeal and nearly leaped out of her own skin. She whirled around and hissed when her side pulled sharply, glared at Chex who had bent nearly double with laughter. She smacked her sharply in the arm. "Are you _trying_ to make me pop my stitches again?"

   "S-s-sorry," Chex gasped, finally straightening as she wiped her tearing eyes. "What's going on down there?"

   Alley shrugged and pulled the door open further. Chex plopped down on the top step and scooted down another two steps, bent over to shamelessly eavesdrop on the conversation. After a few moments, she frowned. "I don't think they're speaking English," she whispered.

   Alley joined her on the step. "I think it's Martian," she whispered back. "Carbine came back. They must be having a meeting or something."

   Chex pulled a face. "Plotting our imminent demise, perhaps?"

   "How about you two nosy Nellies go on down and _ask_ them?"

   This time, both girls squealed, Chex so startled that she slid right off her step. Charley snickered as she stepped between them and headed down the stairs, the loose ties of her bathrobe trailing over their heads. "Morning folks," she greeted amiably. "Anyone want coffee?"

   The conversation had paused at the commotion, but now Vinnie perked up. "Breakfast?" he asked hopefully.

   Charley rolled her eyes. "It's four-thirty in the morning!"

   "Exactly! Time for breakfast."

   Carbine whapped him lightly with her tail. "We're in the middle of a strategy meeting," she reminded him sternly. "Your bottomless stomach can wait."

   "Bad news on the front?" Charley asked as she insinuated herself into the group. Vinnie wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side, planted a kiss on the top of her head. She shot him a scolding glance that failed to hide the bloom of color flushing her cheeks pink.

   "Awwww," Chex cooed from her step, earning snickers from the bros and an elbow in the side from Alley.

   Charley leveled her most put-upon expression on them. "Since you're both up, how about putting on some coffee?" It wasn't so much a suggestion as a subtle order to make themselves scarce.

   Alley rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. I can take a hint. I'll go make coffee."

   "And more herbal tea?" Gunner asked hopefully.

   "Breakfast!" Rimfire and Vinnie added in unison.

   "Right. Tea and breakfast," Alley sighed.

   "Let Chex make it. I don't want you rippin' your stitches again," Stoker ordered.

   "Chex can't cook."

   "I'm sure she can handle somethin' simple like instant oatmeal. _You_ can supervise." His expression left no room for argument.

   "Whatever you say, doc." Alley waved a dismissive hand as she rose stiffly to her feet. Chex hopped up to follow her back up the stairs.

   "And put some decent clothes on!" Modo immediately hollered after them as he slapped one big hand over his ogling nephew's face.

   Chex paused to shoot him a cheeky grin over her shoulder. "Aw, you're just jealous 'cause none of ya'll would look _half_ this hot in this getup," she teased, slapped her own ass for good measure. Vinnie guffawed and she bounced up the steps with a wicked laugh as Alley's exasperated " _Chex!_ " drifted from the apartment.

* * *

   "How can one person create a natural disaster area out of nothing but water and oatmeal?" Alley shook her head as she surveyed the pandemonium that had once been a formerly-spotless kitchen.

   "This? This is nothing. You should see what I can do with a jar of spaghetti sauce and a microwave." Chex cracked up at Alley's horrified expression. "Don't worry, I promise I'll clean up," she assured her. "But okay, I think this is done." She gave the oatmeal one last stir with a wooden spoon and stepped back from the stove. "Give it a taste and tell me what you think."

   Alley hesitantly approached and peered into the pot. She wrinkled her nose. "The consistency seems a little … off," she commented.

   Chex rolled her eyes. "Just taste it and tell me if it needs anything."

   Alley bravely dipped a fork inside, scooped out a thick, pale blob of oatmeal. Gave it a superfluous sniff, took a delicate bite off the end and chewed thoughtfully.

   "Well?" Chex eyeballed her hopefully.

   Alley turned to face her friend, expression serious. "I didn't think it was possible," she began, "but you're actually a worse cook than Vinnie."

   "Aw, come on!" Chex tossed her spoon into the air. It landed with a dull clatter on the floor. "It can't be that bad! I followed your instructions!" She grabbed the fork from Alley's hand and shoved the rest of its contents into her mouth. Her eyes went wide a moment later and she hastily spat the mouthful into the sink, taking several long gulps straight from the faucet. "Gross," she gasped. "So gross!"

   Alley clutched her sore side as she struggled to get her helpless laughter under control. "Congrats on your successful creation of oatmeal playdough," she managed around her giggles. "How did you even mistake flour for sugar? Salt I could understand, but flour is a completely different consistency!"

   "I thought it was that powdery kind! The convention-whatsit."

   Her brow furrowed. "You mean confectionery sugar?"

   "Yeah, that!"

   She cracked up again. "We're not baking pastries, here. And how much did you even use? I said to add a spoonful to give it a little flavor!"

   "Well, I couldn't taste anything so I just threw more in." Chex pouted. "And how am I supposed to know what's what when _you_ don't even have the containers labeled?" She picked up the plastic flour container and shook it at her. "You kinda suck at this supervising gig, just so you know."

   Alley grinned. "Not as much as you suck at cooking."

   "Hey, hey. Did I _not_ just make the best cheese sandwiches ever last night?"

   "Second-best," Alley reminded her with a smirk.

   "Pfft. Details." Chex eyed her creation with an expression of distaste. "So, what do we do with _this_ stuff?"

   Alley shrugged. "Sculpt a bust of Elvis?"

   "Hey!"

   "Maybe we can use it to caulk some of the cracks in the garage walls," she teased.

   " _That's_ it. You asked for it!" Chex dug the fork into the mixture, held it up and drew the loaded end back with one finger.

   Alley's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare."

   She grinned and released her weapon; the large glob of grainy dough sailed forward and smacked Alley right in the chest, eliciting an outraged squeal.

   "Oh, it is _so_ on."

* * *

   When faint shrieks drifted into the garage from the floor above, all conversation ceased and curious glances were directed at the ceiling. Charley heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Think maybe someone could go check to see if my kitchen is on fire? Again?" she questioned drolly.

   "I'll take care of it, Charley-girl." With a grin, Throttle bounded up the stairs, grabbed the fire extinguisher on the way, prepared to deal with anything.

   Well. _Almost_ anything.

   He had to admit that the sight of the two girls—Each with a cooking pot lid in one hand and large globs of some gooey substance held at ready in the other—caught him somewhat by surprise. If one was to judge by the remnants that clung stubbornly to the culprits' hair and clothes … and the walls … and the ceiling … he'd caught them in the middle of a literal food fight.

   Well, he _assumed_ that stuff was food, anyway…

   He raised an eyebrow, leaned against the doorway and set the extinguisher on the counter with a clunk. "Do I even wanna _know_ , or should I just turn around and pretend I didn't see nothin'?" he asked, putting as much severity into his tone as his amusement would allow. He felt immensely satisfied when both girls jumped, turned to face him as their hands went behind their backs in a poor attempt to hide the evidence.

   Chex blinked up at him through wide eyes, the utter picture of sweet demureness. Well, as sweet and demure as one could look in too-small PJs that barely covered anything. No wonder Modo was having conniptions. At least Alley had thrown a thin robe on over her shorts and tank top. Throttle was uncertain whether to be grateful or disappointed by that.

   "Is the meeting over?" Chex asked.

   He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest in his best imitation of Stoker about to take someone to task. "What are you two up to?" he responded sternly.

   The girls glanced at each other.

   "Makin' breakfast," Chex replied innocently.

   Alley's lips twitched. "Makin' flubber," she corrected, and instantly received a handful of said flubber in retaliation. It clung to her already-stained robe and she pressed her lips together, unable to quell her grin. Her shoulders and chest quivered with barely restrained laughter.

   Throttle shook his head, his own mouth curving upward despite his best attempts to remain serious. "Charley-girl's gonna shit a litter when she sees this mess," he warned.

   "We'll clean it up," Alley assured him. "But, uh…" She glanced at the half-empty pot. "I regret to inform you that breakfast is on hold for awhile. Unless cold cereal sounds appealing."

   He snorted. "At least the kitchen isn't on fire."

   Alley pulled a face at him, turned and began gathering various cooking implements. He noticed her pained wince and frowned, instantly concerned. "Ah-ah," he began, snagging her by her uninjured arm. "And what do you think you're doing, young lady?"

   She blinked up at him. "Cleaning up." As if it should have been obvious.

   "Nope." He gently turned her around and steered her toward her room, big hands enclosing her slender shoulders. "You're goin' back to bed before you overdo it again."

   "I can't leave Chex in there to clean that mess by herself!" she protested. "Who knows, she might really set the kitchen on fire."

   "I heard that!"

   They grinned at each other before Alley seemed to recall something and the smile slowly faded. She carefully eased out from under his hands. "Um, I at least should help mop up some of that gunk from the walls. Since I helped put it there and all…"

   He sighed and took her hand, led her to the bed and urged her gently to the mattress. "Go back to sleep for awhile. You look like a raccoon with those bags under your eyes," he teased.

   She wrinkled her nose at him. "You're such a charmer."

   "It's a gift." He winked at her. "I'll supervise Chex over cleanup," he promised.

   She frowned. "I thought you were in the middle of a meeting or something."

   "Planning session, really. And it's pretty much all planned out now."

   "Yeah? And what exactly _are_ you planning?"

   Throttle flashed his most charming grin and a faint blush of color bloomed in her cheeks in response. "Nothin' much," he said with a low chuckle. "We're just gonna go catch ourselves a fish, is all."

 


	42. forty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! I've returned! Well, I never left, really. So sorry for the delay but this chapter just didn't want to be written. I must've started and deleted it half a dozen times. Set it aside for a month or two to work on my other story when I just got sick of looking at it. Now I'm a bit stuck on that story, so I came back to this one and finally managed to finish the chapter tonight! I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's done.

   Despite Throttle's orders, Alley didn't go back to sleep. She instead downed more pain pills, stripped out of her filthy PJs and hobbled as quickly as she could to the bathroom. Right now, what she wanted more than sleep was a long soak to wash the rest of Chex's gunk out of her hair. Preferably before it set.

   She'd just turned off the tap when a large fist pounding on the door nearly made her fall into the tub. " _What?_ " she snapped as she gripped the side for balance.

   "Didn't I tell you to go back to bed?" Throttle demanded from the other side.

   Alley slowly straightened. "Dad? What're you doing here?"

   "Ha ha." He sounded anything but amused.

   She rolled her eyes. "Have I mentioned lately how _annoying_ it is when you hover? Seriously, I'm not made of glass!"

   He grumbled, and she caught a series of telltale clicks issuing from the door. " _Throttle_ ," she growled, "if you pick that lock, I _swear_ I'll rip your tail out through your nose and string you up by your _balls_ with it!"

   Silence. Then, a faint snicker. "I would dearly love to see you try."

   Was it her imagination, or had that been flirtatious _challenge_ in his tone?

   She glowered at the door and tried to ignore the growing heat in her face. "Fine," she amended, her tone saccharine. "I'll just tell Stoker that you deliberately walked in on me naked. Or maybe Charley. I'm sure _she'll_ appreciate your attempts to molest her baby cousin."

   "I'm not tryin' to—!" He sputtered into silence and a moment later she heard his booted feet stomping away.

   "I _did_ dislocate a guy's shoulder once, you know," she grumbled to herself as she climbed into the tub. Once she got her health issues sorted out, she was gonna have to see about joining another self-defense class or something. That might be the only way to get taken seriously in this pack of wolves.

   She settled back with a heavy sigh and proceeded to wash the drying gunk from her hair. It was starting to smell a little funky by now, but proved to be perfectly water-solvable. She had just finished rinsing off when the peace was rudely disrupted by the telltale rumble of the garage doors. As always, their ascent caused the heavy tub to vibrate until even the plumbing started to rattle. Alley heaved a sigh and opened the drain, lamenting the loss of her bath. It wouldn't be long before everyone came charging up looking for food, and she _still_ didn't know what to do about breakfast. Hopefully, Throttle and Chex had the mess in the kitchen cleaned up by now.

   The sudden repeated thuds of yet another fist against the door made her jump; the sharp pull against her stitches made her curse under her breath, ready to blast Throttle's ears for disturbing her again until Chex's cheery, "Did you drown yet?" rang through the door.

   "Still kickin'," she called back. "You need the bathroom?"

   "Yeah. And Throttle said to tell you don't worry about breakfast 'cause there's cereal and fruit, and Charley's making a run to the convenience store for more milk."

   "Hope I was right about those guys not being lactose intolerant," Alley mused aloud as she wrapped herself in a towel, mindful of her soaked bandages. "Else there's gonna be some majorly gross digestive issues by the end of the day." She grinned at Chex's snort, unlocked the door and peeked out. "Coast clear?"

   At her friend's affirmative, she hobbled back to her room to change while Chex took her place in the bathroom.

* * *

   Charley came back with not only milk, but donuts and breakfast burritos as well. The gang crowded around the table and poked through the bags. Rimfire sniffed at a burrito curiously, took a cautious bite, and his face lit up as he downed the huge concoction with a speed that rivaled even the trio's poor eating habits. He immediately reached for a second. Carbine also nibbled delicately on half of a burrito. The fact that they were loaded with Swiss cheese didn't seem to faze either mouse, Charley noted.

   Vinnie, on the other hand…

   "Ugh. I smell cheese," he complained as he sniffed at a burrito. "Sweetheart, ya know I hate cheese."

   Charley rolled her eyes. "Oh, here, ya big baby." She deftly plucked it from his hand and replaced it with a very browned banana.

   He looked as if she'd just handed him a large turd. "Uh, can't we just make some hotdogs?"

   "No." Charley took a large bite out of the burrito and turned her back on him.

   He grumbled, ignoring the snickers of his bros, and reached for the box of Cheerios as Stoker watched the exchange with amusement. "There's just no pleasin' some folks," he teased, earning a brief glare in reply.

   Alley wandered into the kitchen, hair wrapped in a damp towel, yawning behind her hand. "I see Chex managed to clean up her mess," she commented as she helped herself to an apple danish.

   Throttle raised an eyebrow and elbowed her gently. " _Her_ mess?"

   She rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine. _Our_ mess. What happened to her science project, anyway?"

   He chuckled. "Took it out for a proper burial in the dumpster. But only 'cause I was afraid it'd trash the garbage disposal if we tried stuffin' it down the drain."

   She smirked. "As long as it doesn't mutate and go on a rampage through the city, it should be okay out there."

   "You talkin' trash about my cooking again?" Chex appeared like magic behind her, freshly showered and dressed in her own clothes.

   Alley blinked wide, innocent eyes. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about. Want breakfast?"

   "Nah, I'm good. Listen, I gotta jet." She hitched her bag over her shoulder. "Just got a text from Chris. Apparently, Pop's on the warpath again."

   "What'd you do _now_?"

   "I dunno." She affected her most innocent expression. "Something about me skipping all my classes yesterday…?"

   "Chex!"

   She laughed. "Well, it was a really busy day! Anyhow, I gotta get back to the dorm before he sends out the cops to round me up or something. Call me when they catch up to ol' Lard Butt, 'kay? I wanna hear _all_ about that!" She saluted and turned to bounce down the steps to the garage.

* * *

   Once everyone had their fill of food, the mice retired back to the garage to continue discussion on their upcoming mission. Alley retreated to her bedroom to catch up on more sleep, but only because Throttle _and_ Stoker tag-teamed her and threatened to tie her to the bed if she didn't listen. She'd been too tired to keep arguing, so had finally retreated, grumbling about pushy, overprotective males all the way.

   Charley had decided to stay in the kitchen and clean up a little, not wanting to disrupt the meeting. What the mice were planning now really didn't concern her, so she went quietly about her usual morning routine. She kind of wished she could go back to bed herself, but she needed to open her garage in an hour or so, anyway. Sleep would have to wait.

   As she brushed her teeth, she heard someone in the living room and peered out of the bathroom to find Gunner there. "You need something?" she asked.

   "I'm looking for Carbine," Gunner replied, face etched with concern. "She slipped away a bit ago and hasn't returned."

   "Maybe she went for a walk," Charley suggested. "It's pretty quiet around here. Not a lot of humans left in this part of the city and the few that still live here already know about the guys."

   Gunner nodded, still looking troubled. "It's just … she has been so quiet. Something's troubling her, but she won't talk to me. To _any_ of us."

   Charley pursed her lips. "Well, she's got a lot on her mind, you know? I imagine leading an entire rebel army can become a bit taxing after awhile."

   "Well, yes, but … it isn't just that. I think something else is bothering her, as well. But this seems more … personal. She won't discuss it with her subordinates. I don't think she'll even discuss with her uncle or Thro—" Gunner abruptly cut herself off, looking embarrassed.

   Charley smiled wanly. "You want me to poke around and see what's going on?"

   "Well, if you could at least make sure she's okay…"

   "I'm sure she's fine. I'll go find her, okay? I wanted to talk with her before you guys left, anyway. I don't want to leave things on a bad note."

   Gunner nodded, relieved, and went back to join the meeting.

   On a whim, Charley headed downstairs and went around the building to the fire escape, climbed to the roof and glanced around, searching. A pair of legs dangling over the edge of the shed caught her eye, and she clambered up the ladder. Sure enough, she discovered Carbine sprawled on her back on the flat tin roof, gazing through lidded eyes at the sky. The mouse jumped a bit at her sudden appearance.

   "Kind of thought you might be up here. Mind if I join you?"

   Carbine wordlessly scooched over to make room and Charley made herself comfortable. She eyeballed her friend, noted the exhaustion in her face and the deep circles under her eyes that even the fur failed to hide. "Here." She withdrew a small flask from her pocket and handed it over. "You look like you need it."

   Surprised, Carbine nevertheless accepted the flask and took a small swallow. Her eyes widened. "What is this?"

   "Moonshine." Charley smiled wryly. "Not as strong as Martian ale, I'm sure, but it'll relax you at least."

   "Thank you." She took another sip and handed it back. "It's good liquor."

   "Homemade, too. My dad's gotten quite good at it." Charley wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "I'd send a jar along home with you, except I seem to have misplaced the other one somehow."

   Carbine hummed and turned to gaze out over the city, eyes focused on something far away. Probably Mars, Charley thought. Aloud, she said, "You up and disappeared in the middle of discussing plans. Gunner's worried, you know."

   Carbine snorted. "When is Gunner _not_ worried? She's too overprotective."

   Charley laughed. "Well, that's her job. It's why you appointed her your bodyguard, isn't it?"

   "I _didn't_ appoint her. The Council insisted at Stoker's recommendation."

   "Well, at least you know she's loyal and takes the job seriously. She really is concerned, though. You should talk to her."

   "She's my subordinate."

   "So that means she can't also be your friend? Maybe she can help you hash out whatever problems you're facing. If nothing else, sometimes just talking things through helps clear the cobwebs from your head."

   Carbine fell into silence as she contemplated. After a few minutes, she shifted and glanced at her friend. "I … I feel I owe you an apology," she hedged. At Charley's raised eyebrow, she continued, "For what happened yesterday. For my behavior these past few weeks, actually. I've … not been at my best lately."

   Charley remained silent, but as she appeared to be giving Carbine her full attention, she continued, "I've been under a lot of stress and I'm worried about what's going on at home and … I suppose I've been taking it out on everyone. But it's no excuse. My behavior has been deplorable and you especially don't deserve that after opening your home to us for so long."

   Charley finally turned her gaze away. "I guess that's understandable," she replied after a moment, "but don't you think you should tell this to Chex and Alley, too? After what happened yesterday, an apology is the least of what you could offer, don't you think?"

   Carbine looked as if she'd just bitten into something sour. "That girl has no business interfering with _our_ business," she mumbled.

   "I disagree." Charley turned to face her more fully. "Modo saved her life once and that's how she knew anything about Martians to begin with. She got involved in your 'business' the moment she was nearly crushed beneath it in that mall."

   Carbine's gaze slid away, and Charley raised an eyebrow. "Unless, of course, _Chex_ isn't the girl you were talking about just now…" she prompted. The general's silence was all the answer she needed. She huffed a soft breath. "You know, what happened between you and Throttle is terrible, but it _isn't_ Alley's fault. Not entirely. It's not fair of you to blame her for it."

   Carbine's hand fisted on her thigh. "If she had stayed in Florida … never have come here…"

   "Is that the excuse you're going to keep feeding yourself?" Charley fixed her with a hard expression.

   After a long, silent moment, Carbine relented with a heavy sigh and a defeated slump of her shoulders. "Things haven't been … well between me and Throttle for a long time now," she confessed softly. "The war changed _all_ of us. The experiences, the distance… We're not the same naive kids we were back then. I guess the relationship would have ended one way or another, but … I wanted to keep pretending for as long as possible that everything was okay. I didn't want to admit defeat. I guess I was holding out hope that after the war finally ended, we could finally sit down and hash everything out and it would all be okay." She seemed to pull into herself, sighing heavily. "I'd always hoped that Throttle felt the same way."

   Charley offered a sympathetic, one-armed hug, along with the flask. Carbine gratefully accepted, sipped quietly for a few moments as she contemplated. "You know, Alley and I will probably never be friends," she mused. "Don't get offended; I can sense that she doesn't like me any more than I like her."

   Charley considered. "Well, in her defense, you _did_ try to have her friend turned into a psychic vegetable," she replied lightly. "I can't really blame her for being a little miffed."

   Carbine nearly choked on the moonshine. "That was—!"

   "You having a nervous breakdown?"

   She sputtered, defensive, until she recognized the teasing glint in Charley's eyes. Her tension drained as she barked a short laugh. "In _my_ defense, she didn't like me _way_ before then. And I'm pretty sure I know why." She capped the flask and pocketed it. "And just for _that_ , I'm confiscating this."

   Charley laughed. "Keep it. You can consider it a going-away present."

   Carbine giggled—actually _giggled_ (and she was _totally_ blaming the moonshine for that)—before her smile slowly faded. "So, you and I … are we okay?" she asked softly. "I haven't ruined our friendship because of all this, have I?"

   "You kidding?" Charley offered a lopsided smile. "You tried to drop me and the guys off a cliff the first time we met and I never held _that_ against you, right?"

   "I _wish_ you would forget about that. It wasn't my finest moment," Carbine groaned.

   The mechanic chuckled. "One of many," she teased. "Look, royally screwing shit up is natural for people, but you at least always own up to it. That honesty is part of why I respect you so much."

   Carbine ducked her head. "Thank you, Charley. For everything. I mean it."

   Charley scratched her head, sheepish, and shrugged. "Aw, don't mention it. What're friends for? And hey, if it ever gets too overwhelming up there, feel free to pull a Stoker and sneak down to earth anytime. My doors are always open."

   Carbine smiled wanly. "Even if your cousin's still here?"

   "Don't worry about her. I'm sure she'll behave if you do." Charley cocked her head and pursed her lips. "You know, I can understand why you're upset with Alley for her part in your breakup, but is it fair to blame _only_ her? Throttle is just as guilty for what happened between them before you got here."

   Carbine's eyes narrowed. "What exactly _did_ happen between them, anyway?" she demanded.

   It belatedly occurred to Charley that maybe Throttle hadn't been _entirely_ forthcoming with the gritty details. If that was the case, _she_ sure wasn't about to drop the bomb. Especially about that hot and heavy kiss she'd disrupted on this very rooftop. Time for some evasive maneuvers. "And, you know," she continued hastily, as if she'd never heard Carbine's question, "you might as well place some blame on Stoker while you're at it. After all, if he hadn't gotten it into his head to call you down here in the first place, you and Throttle would still be together in your own deluded little world."

   Carbine pulled a face at her. "At _least_ my uncle had good intentions," she sniffed, nose in the air as she crossed her arms.

   "Yeah. But for _whom_?" Charley muttered under her breath. She huffed a little laugh. "Ever hear that earth saying about good intentions? Apparently, the road to hell is paved with 'em."

   "Well. Guess it's a good thing for me that I don't believe in hell."

   They blinked at each other in surprise, turned together to face the fire escape, where they found the very subject of their discussion perched with ears and eyebrows cocked, expression shifting between amused and quizzical. "What're you two miscreants up to out here?" Stoker asked once he'd gotten their attention.

   "'Miscreants', he calls us," Carbine snorted.

   "Hey, Coach, ever hear the one about the pot and the kettle?" Charley called playfully. He chuckled and offered a brief wave before vanishing again. She blinked. "What was _that_ all about?"

   "That, I believe, is the signal that the final details of our plans have been hashed out." Carbine hopped to her feet to stretch the kinks from her back with a series of pops that made Charley wince in sympathy. She followed the general back down to the garage, where she found the mice all waiting, the feeling of expectation and excitement tense in the air.

   "The plan is simple," Stoker explained to Charley as soon as she joined them. "Easiest way to do this is we'll take the bikes out to my workshop, where I've stashed my ship. From there we can head to where Rimfire landed the Stalker ship. It ain't far from the workshop so won't take a lot of time to get there. Me 'n the bros will drop Carbine's crew off and then head toward Limburger's last known location. Shouldn't be too difficult to flush the stinkfish outta hiding. He's probably desperate by now and desperation leads to stupid mistakes."

   "Yeah, let's go pound some fishface!" Vinnie punched his palm with a feral grin.

   "Just one question," Charley cut in. She shot Stoker a quizzical smile. "I've seen your ship. It's _tiny_. It's just a scout ship, ain't it? Two, three crew members, tops. Are you sure you'll all _fit_ in it?"

   Stoker chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll fit. We may be sittin' in each others' _laps_ , but we'll fit."

   "Well, enough with the chit-chat. Time to get this show on the road," Throttle grunted. "I've been itchin' to kick some Plutarkian ass for _weeks_. No more delays, gang." With that clipped command, he hopped onto his bike and gunned the engine. Vinnie and Modo followed his lead with a whoop. Rimfire slid behind his uncle as Gunner gingerly climbed behind Throttle, casting a nervous glance toward Carbine, who pretended not to notice.

   She instead turned to Charley and reached to clasp her forearm. After a surprised moment, the mechanic returned the gesture. "My friend, I appreciate everything you've done for us," Carbine began formally. "I thank you on behalf of myself and my crew for providing us with a home these past few weeks. If you're ever on Mars again, know that your generosity will be returned tenfold." She paused and ducked her head. "And please inform Chex that I am genuinely sorry for what happened yesterday," she added under her breath. "For my extreme lack of good judgment on her character."

   Charley smiled and pulled Carbine into a brief hug. "I'll be sure to let her know," she promised.

   Carbine nodded and pulled away, embarrassed, before hopping on the back of Stoker's bike.

   "Safe trip home," Charley called, "And you boys better be safe out there!"

   She had just enough time to hear Vinnie loudly scoff before engines revved and four bikes shot out of the garage and swiftly vanished in a cloud of road dust.


End file.
